


All that Spirits Desire

by peppermintquartz



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Inception (2010), White Collar, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Can You Say Rebound?, Demon Hunter!Erik, Exorcist!Charles, Explicit Sexual Content, Gorgeous is for Breakfast, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Irresistible Eames, Mind to Mind Confessions are Awkward, Mozzie Knows Everyone, Multi, This is Buffyverse without Buffy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles, a telepath and an exorcist, finds Erik, who is lost on Earth and searching for his companions. There is a demon lord back where Erik comes from, and Erik wants to end the demon's reign. By any means necessary.<br/>So where does that put Charles?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the Buffyverse with Bleach elements, so there are demons et al. But Buffy herself is not gonna appear, and Ichigo is just a mention.  
> Oh, and the time period for this fic is set ALL OVER THE FREAKING PLACE. Because the characters I love just don't have the courtesy of being in the same era, dammit.

Two men were in a car. The driver was looking for a sign: he was paler, with faint freckles if one looked closely, and a mop of messy dark hair. The other sat straight in his seat, his eyes scanning the surroundings and the set of his shoulders tense.

“Charles.” The taller man peered out at the deserted environs. “We are almost there?”

“Yes, Erik, I do believe so,” said the shorter male absently as he navigated a turn. Charles smiled widely and said, “You will like him, I think. Rupert Giles is an amazing man, he's seen and done so much, and for him to call us – me – it must be something quite momentous.”

“You are certain he is trustworthy.”

That was not a question, but Charles took it as one. “Yes. He did save my life once, and then he introduced me to the coven. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have met you, and this conversation wouldn't be taking place. Oh, there's the turn.”

The black Ford rumbled forward and Charles paused at the sign. He beamed proudly to his companion. “We're here!”

“What does that sign say?” asked Erik (whose actual name was nearly impossible for someone not born in Genosha to pronounce clearly and so Charles had had to settle for Erik) and a refugee from a parallel world. He was also currently a demon hunter, courtesy of the man beside him.

Charles Xavier himself was born a telepath because his father meddled with science and the occult, leading to a terrible death for Xavier Senior ten years after, and Charles was also an exorcist because he found demonology and esoteric zoology so much more interesting than genetics, his original obsession. The passion for the esoteric also drove away other demons, specifically his alcoholic mother who drank herself into a grave, but not before marrying Marko and made Charles's life a living hell. Then Marko died after Charles's mother, and Charles was free.

Afterward he worked briefly for the Watchers Council in London, found them far too priggish and posh for his tastes, and left. Then he met Henry 'Beast' McCoy, who preferred to be called Hank, who was his neighbor and the nicest guy on the block, and happened to be a half-demon. After three rounds of drinks, they became fast friends, and then Charles found a career as an exorcist and translator, and then there was Erik.

It was complicated. The last part, especially.

Sensing that Charles was once again lost in his thoughts, Erik tapped on the telepath's hand. Charles regarded him fondly. It would take time to teach Erik how to read, even though the Genoshan was now able to converse in serviceable English, and Charles loved the idea of hours and hours teaching Erik how to read, even if Charles himself was not too sure why he loved the idea.

Erik pointed at the sign. “Charles. What does it say?”

“It says we've reached Sunnydale.”

“Will we see this Rupert Giles immediately?”

“Oh no, Erik, we're early by a day,” Charles responded. “I thought it would be good for you to mingle among common people for a bit, so you will acclimatize further. We've done so much in such short time, and I haven't really introduced you to modern life outside of my office and apartment.”

Erik frowned. “You are certain this is a good idea?”

Charles shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Maybe.” He then sighed. “Erik, given that this is a Hellmouth and there are many demons, and some may even have come from Genosha... would you prefer me to call you by another name? At least while we are here?”

“Max, then.” Erik's brow furrowed faintly. The Genoshan had a beautiful frown, Charles thought very privately, that brought out the steel of those amazing eyes, but when he smiled... those eyes were hypnotic, and that lovely, shark-like smile would make anyone fall for him.

Charles Xavier resolutely stopped that line of thought, and turned down the road to the motels.

 

 

In the end it was a fairly routine exorcism, even if the subject was someone quite spectacular. Charles had not met anyone with so much raw potential before – he was fairly sure he was high from that contact with the boy's mind – and so much pain locked in a person's memories. Charles had also come across that intensely private memory of Ichigo and Urahara, and to make matters seem less intrusive, Charles had shared about his own experience of losing his virginity. Though, judging by the look of utter mortification and embarrassment on Ichigo's face after Charles was done, the telepathic exorcist had not quite achieved the effect he had been aiming for.

Erik – Max, Charles must remember to call him that here, there were too many demons in Sunnydale to risk the full name of Erik Lehnsherr, even if it was not the actual Genoshan name – Max had stood up to Urahara and backed Charles up. It had been very gratifying.

Now they were in the motel room they shared, and Charles had to keep his thoughts to himself again when Erik walked out of the shower, dropped the towel and got dressed without a hint of modesty.

Charles knew that this was because of the rough lifestyle Erik had on Genosha, but it didn't make it easier on the Charles's libido.

Oh, in addition to being a telepath, an exorcist, and a best friend to a half-demon, Charles was also gay.

It wasn't really a problem. Not until now.

 

 

Five months ago a frantic call had come from Moira McTaggert, a friend of Charles's from the university. She claimed that there was a glowing hole where her water heater was supposed to be and there was a bloody man trying to get out of it.

Charles had asked her if she meant bloody as in blood-soaked or in the swear word.

“I mean it, Charles Xavier, if I fucking _die_ because you're clarifying my definition of a word I will haunt you to your grave and make sure you never get laid!” Moira screamed at him through the phone.

Charles had winced, sighed and grabbed Hank to go along with him to Moira's place. He was hoping that Hank would grow to like Moira enough to start wooing her – she was a nice woman, and pretty, and Hank was a lonely soul. However, though Hank and Moira got along well enough, there were no sparks.

The drive took less than twenty minutes. Moira had grabbed Charles and Hank, pushed them to the kitchen, and then grabbed a butcher's knife.

“Go in and get rid of him!” she ordered in a shaky voice.

Charles rolled his blue eyes in mock defiance. “Yes, yes...”

Then he had opened the basement door, saw one half-naked man ( _and what a view_ , Charles's mind supplied unhelpfully) wielding a sword like he was someone who just stepped off the cover of a romance paperback, and he was hacking at a person who looked yellow and slimy and was, oh, god, spitting wads of goo.

Charles instinctively froze the yellow man's movements when the latter noticed Charles at the doorway, and then the swordsman sliced off the head of the yellow man, which made Charles suddenly weak-headed. If Hank hadn't been there then Charles would have been no-headed. The resounding clang of a dustbin crashing into a blade stunned Charles out of his momentary weakness and he stared at how close he had been to death. Then he froze the attacker with his mind.

The swordsman was bloody, his body torn up with so many wounds Charles wondered how he could remain standing, let alone fight. The portal that Moira had screamed about had closed, apparently; the residue of powerful magic was in the air, along with the stench of blood and gore. Hank had gone into Beast mode when he prevented Charles from being beheaded, and the scent of death was ruffling his blue fur in a bad way.

 _Who are you?_ He sent the tendril of inquiry to the man below.  _I mean no harm, but I can't be sure of you._

It was a startled and wary mental voice that answered him in a language that resembled none on earth.  _'I am Erkrlhnsher. If you are with that demon Shaw then kill me now. I will never return to him.'_

 _I don't know of whom you speak._ Charles was very aware that they had exchanged thoughts in concepts, not in words, and this flustered the young telepath. This was beyond translating for demons, whose languages were, to various levels, bastardized by Earth's tongues.  _You need medical attention. Let us help you._

The man was unable to make any facial expression but the distrust in his eyes and in his mind came across loud and clear.

_Please. Let me help. I mean no harm._

_'Your blue companion? Can I trust him?'_

_He wouldn't harm you._

_'He seems savage.'_

_He was only protecting me. As you were protecting yourself. Please, let us help._

Carefully Charles released his mental command of Erkrlh... something, and the half-naked man lowered his arm. The sword embedded into the metal dustbin flew back into the stranger's hand and then morphed into a globe, before it fell on the floor with a solid 'thunk'.

“Holy shit.” Hank had finally resettled into his human face and was pushing up the glasses on his nose. “That's unbelievable.”

“I concur,” said Charles faintly, mouth agape.

Moira sighed. “Let's get him out of there and... can you guys do something about the body? I’m not even going to try picturing the clean up in here.”

“I'll send you my usual crew,” Charles suggested.

Moira had smiled her thanks and then they were dressing the cuts on Erkrlh-something's body. Rather, Hank did the bandaging, Moira did the helping and Charles was trying to communicate with the stranger. He had to resort to pure telepathy since the man could not understand what Charles _said._ After a lengthy mind-to-mind sharing – he saw too many things, wondrous and horrifying – Charles felt secure enough that he had not helped the wrong person.

“Hank, I’m going to move back home,” he said eventually. “Our friend is going to stay a while.”

 

 

Much as he hated Westchester, it was a good place to stash someone who was new to the world and very suspicious. Charles asked Hank to move in as well, so that the telepath wouldn't be alone with the Genoshan, but Hank's lease was not yet up and he had work. However, the half-demon promised to visit regularly.

Charles named his new housemate Erik Lehnsherr. There was something very German about him; perhaps the green-gray eyes or the stern profile or maybe the way he carried himself. In any case, Charles wanted Erik to stay close because, really, no one else understood him, and Erik fascinated him.

By his own account, Erik Lehnsherr was a refugee from Genosha. Genosha was an alternate world, one where everyone had their own powers such as shapeshifting or weather control or even invisibility.

Because of all that power, a demon lord had come hunting. Lord Shaw, as he had styled himself, absorbed power; those that wanted to stay alive aligned themselves to him and subjugated their own race. Others who had opposed him were drained and forced to work as slaves.

 _'They called it Taming,'_ Erik had explained. _'They took us, made us their toys or tools or, if we were dangerous, animals to be slaughtered.'_

The hatred in Erik's mind nearly ripped Charles's composure apart.

Erik had been the leader of a renegade team, and he had led an attack on Shaw's base, hoping to force Shaw into a portal sending him back to his own dimension, before sealing off the realm of Genoshan forever. They had had a girl who had the ability to do so, but Shaw's minions had attacked the girl, and the portals had been let loose with no anchor, and Erik was sent to New York.

Erik's power had been an affinity with metal. Affinity was too weak a word; metal obeyed him like a well-trained dog, and initially Erik had made all the metal fittings in the house hum as he explored them in detail. He had been most thrilled and awed at how much raw material he had at his fingertips.

 _'We did not have much metal in our world, so I had little to work with,'_ said Erik. He had not objected to that pronunciation of his name.

“Well, everything in our world seems to have some metal in them,” said Charles aloud, though he thought the sentence in his mind too. Slowly Erik was picking words up from their conversations, such as “I” and “you” and “metal” and “steel” and “oh god don't do that it's dangerous”.

Erik soon discovered a liking for pasta, an intense dislike of television, and a concern about his fellow Genoshans after two days of healing from his injuries.  _'I have companions in this world, I think. There were many portals opened concurrently... some might have come here.'_

Charles gazed at Erik's worried frown and then said, “I promise we'll find them.”

 

 

They found Darkholme a week later, in Sitka, Alaska. Her power was to shapeshift, but her antics had caught the attention of the local coven. However, they could not identify her and sent Charles an email about her, asking if he could identify the demon.

It was good to be the expert sometimes, Charles thought, and had notified Erik, who had gripped the monitor and almost smashed through the screen to get the blue-skinned Genoshan out from there. Charles had talked him out of the impulse, and then realized that he could not possibly leave Erik alone in New York City.

That had then led to Erik getting a forged passport, and all the other paraphernalia.

“I suggest you have multiple aliases, Mr Lehnsherr,” said the forger. Mr Haversham glanced around Central Park where they had agreed to meet. “It's never too early to build multiple lives.”

“He doesn't speak English yet.” Charles had smiled at Mr Haversham. “I think one more for him would suffice, Mr Haversham. Maybe one for business purposes?”

“I would need to build tax records, dental records and, oh, I don't know, a whole new life for him?” the diminutive man exclaimed, but calmed himself. “Mr X, you are a wonderful, wonderful man, and so I will do this for you. But please don't let the others know. They're jealous enough of me as it is.”

“They appreciate your talent, Mr Haversham, as do I,” said Charles winningly, his blue eyes bright with gratitude.

Mr Haversham grunted. “Remind me never to introduce you to my friend. The charm you two put together will level New York City.”

“Who is this friend?”

“Never, I said. I will meet you when you come back, complete with a whole new life for your friend here.”

“There might be a need for more,” Charles added hesitantly.

The little man tilted his head as he regarded Charles Xavier. “What on earth are you up to, my friend?”

“Nothing.” Charles's mouth twitched. “On earth.”

“Ah. In the occult, my friend, I do not dabble. The real world is more than trouble enough.” Mr Haversham waved and wandered off, his seemingly casual stroll actually a marked path that would avoid all cameras and surveillance.

 

 

At the airport Erik had been almost dizzy with the sheer amount of metal around them. The planes, the window frames, the shutters, the carts, the trolleys, the counters... Charles fancied that Erik could hear them singing to him.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked. “Just do what I tell you.”

To Charles's relief Erik had obeyed, though he kept his mouth shut. In his head though Charles could hear the excited commentaries about the slickness of the stainless steel, the bone-rumbling potential of the huge jets outside, the overworked groan of the girders. When Erik placed reverent hands on the interior walls of the plane, Charles had thought that the Genoshan wouldn't have a problem with flight.

How wrong he was.

Charles practically had to shut Erik into deep sleep so that the plane would not crash. The metal manipulator was so attuned to metal that when the engine started, it was as if the raw power coursed through Erik himself, and Charles had to dampen the Genoshan's exultant reaction before anyone else saw it.

That expression also fueled Charles's more inappropriate thoughts about Erik.

 

 

Darkholme had got used to being human more easily than Erik, since she was a shapeshifter, but her presence raised alarm bells in Sitka. Thankfully she was not the one responsible for the missing children but something else entirely.

“And who are you?” she asked when they met her at a bridge, about to tackle the perpetrator – a troll – herself. “What do you want?

“Darkholme,” Charles said, “Erik sent me.”

“I don't know an Erik,” she had snapped, and was about to attack Charles when Erik stepped out from the shadows of the bridge, dragging the unconscious troll behind him.

Darkholme dropped her hands, staring in incredulity, and then pounced on Erik, hugging him with fierce joy. The sight made Charles feel rather left out, but when he heard the thoughts in his head he felt better.

_'You are safe, little sister. I had feared for you. Did the portal send you here? Were you followed?'_

_'I took them out. They were low-level minions, really, and after I got here I took the appearance of one of the local women. I also learned their language quite quickly; you would be proud of me.'_

_'I am always proud of you, Dakhlm.'_ Erik had smiled at the blue skinned girl – she was naked, Charles noted with embarrassment as he averted his eyes – and the smile was very striking. 

_Like a shark showing all its teeth,_ Charles considered.

 _'What is like a shark?'_ asked Erik after he set his sister down.

“Um, nothing,” said Charles on reflex, but blushed when Dakhlm laughed and whispered into her brother's ear.

The trip back was not as eventful, as Erik now anticipated the surge in energy and took it in his stride, though Darkholme, as Charles interpreted the name in his head, had to pretend to be first airport security and then an air stewardess to get on the plane, and then again when she disembarked.

 

 

The moment they met, Hank was smitten with Darkholme, but he was not stupid.

“They need places to stay and jobs,” said Hank a week later, one Thursday night, as they played Pictionary, using the game to teach Erik the language, though Charles was a horrible artist and confused the poor Genoshan more often than not.

Darkholme, who was as fascinated with Hank's blue-furred form as he was with her blue skin, had already picked up English, both from a dictionary and from mimicking the way people spoke. Charles and Hank had been impressed with how fast she learned, but Darkholme had just waved off the compliment, saying that it was part of the impersonation process. “What do you suggest then, Hank?”

“Um, identification for the first part? I’m sure Mr Haversham can help...” stammered Hank.

Erik frowned. Charles's mind had translated all that into whatever language Genoshans spoke and Erik managed to process the conversation quickly enough. His answer was of words he had to select from his growing repertoire, stilted and slow. “Is it truly of need?”

“It would be easier to move about in our society if you have the right papers,” replied Charles. He was distracted by how good Erik looked in a plain gray shirt and jeans.

The tall Genoshan male regarded Charles for a moment longer than was comfortable for the exorcist. Then he nodded. “I understanding.”

“I understand,” Charles corrected quietly. Erik smiled and repeated the sentence, before he thought, _'I would like to listen to you read to me what you were readin' yesterday. Can we go back home?'_

The last word sent a small jolt to Charles's heart, but he ignored its significance. He did, however, remember to ask if Darkholme would like to come back to his house for that night.

“I don't think so,” said Darkholme, shyly gazing at Hank. When the half-demon saw the look he blushed so fiercely that Charles thought he would turn purple, though if he was in his blue form Hank would definitely be an interesting shade of lavender.

 

 

The book was Charles's favorite: _The Once and Future King._

Erik was fascinated, especially since he had never encountered the legends before, and was listening to it with a fresh mind. Charles had read to children before, back when he thought about being a librarian or a childcare teacher (he had been scarred for life by the wild energy of young kids and forsworn this particular vocation), but even the most well-behaved child never listened the way Erik did.

Erik listened so intently, it was as if the world was shut out, and there was only Charles, Erik, and the story. Charles had begun re-reading it for Erik after the fourth day of their acquaintance, just for Erik to have something to focus on beyond seeking out his companions.

“ _'The best thing for being sad,' replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, 'is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds.',”_ read Charles, his attention slightly distracted by the intense gaze that Erik had. His mind translated that into Erik's language, and it was altogether too intimate with the mind-bond, but Charles could not find it in himself to object. It felt right, his mind settling there in Erik's head, never intruding or digging for information, just nestled there as a kitten curled in its bed.

Oh gods.

He had just compared himself to a kitten.

Charles could just about bury himself and die now.

Erik frowned and shifted closer on the sofa, his knee brushing Charles's, and asked, _'Why learn then, if everything is about to be destroyed?'_

The telepath smiled and went on in his smooth accent: “'There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.'”

The Genoshan fell silent, as if pondering the words, but Charles did not stop reading, until the clock struck one and his voice faltered.

Erik peered at Charles's drooping eyelids and then closed the book reverently. “My friend,” he said, stumbling a little over the enunciation, “it is time to go to bed for us.”

“Time for us to go to bed,” murmured Charles, correcting Erik in a half daze. The Genoshan repeated, making the alteration, and the telepath then closed his eyes, dreaming of ants and battles and tall banners in the grass.

 

 

Two weeks after that night of Pictionary, Darkholme announced that she was now called Raven, and she was moving in with Hank, and that she would be Hank's assistant. If Charles ever needed her help in exorcising demons she would be available, and also for demon-human events where she could mingle.

Then she had added very quietly in a personal thought to Charles, _'Xavier, if my brother is hurt because of you, I will kill you. Even if Hank hates me for it.'_

Erik had not taken to the new name, but since Haversham left 'Darkholme' in as the girl's family name it did not matter. Charles followed Erik's lead, and remained very aware of Raven Darkholme's threats.

 

 

Five months later they had gone to the little town of Sunnydale and left it with little fanfare, except Erik decapitated two vampires which tried to ambush them on their walk back. Nothing major, really, other than once again Erik noticing how Charles was practically beaming with pride at the ease with which Erik used his powers. It was refreshing for the Genoshan to have someone admiring him instead of coveting his abilities.

They had stopped in Los Angeles, found a karaoke bar run by a demon, and Charles had gotten completely sloshed. He didn't mean to; the bartender was mixing drinks that were more potent than Charles's usual selections, and the host, a lovely green-skinned red-horned demon named Lorne, had cajoled Charles into trying out the more exotic items on the drinks menu.

“Why a karaoke bar, Lorne?” asked Charles, smiling crookedly at a sweet-looking Herend warrior. “Most of 'em can't hold a note properly.”

“It's more for the soul than the soul, honeycakes,” said the host.

“I'm too tipsy for riddles, darling.”

Lorne chuckled. “Oh, my little sapphire-eyed bunny, you'd best never call me that ever again unless you want poor lil' Lorne to end up dead in a gutter.”

Charles scowled. “Call you what? Darling? But I call... I call everyone darling. I call Erik – this is Erik – darling. And he doesn't mind, _and_ he's scarier and less sweet than you are.”

Lorne eyed the drunk Xavier sceptically and said, “Sweetheart, sing something for me.”

“Hmm?” Charles tilted his head and his cheek encountered a broad chest. It was warm and solid and when Charles peered up, belonged to Erik. “Sing something?”

Erik was not smiling, but then he seldom smiled. He was scary, yes, but only to others. Charles wasn't scared of him at all. Charles adored him.

“Yes, of course you do, sweetie cakes. Now sing for your uncle Lorne,” Lorne suggested, with a bright-eyed twinkle saying that he knew secrets that Erik didn't. Ushering Charles up the stage was not hard, since the telepath had the resistance of cooked spaghetti at that point, and a martini in one hand secured Charles to the seat.

“Um, I’m not sure if anyone remembers this song.” Charles began humming the beginnings of some old song, something his mother used to play when she was still more a mother and less of a sad excuse for a person. His voice was shaky and the notes didn't hold true, but Lorne listened with all his heart. And, as the host glanced around the club, did quite a number of his patrons.

“ _I'm a fool to want you; I'm a fool to want you... To want a love that can't be true; a love that's there for others too..._ ” Charles's words slurred together in a low hum. “ _...To seek a kiss not mine alone; To share a kiss that devil has known..._ ”

Erik beside Lorne was listening with a focus that was almost terrifying in its single-mindedness. Lorne had never met a Genosha resident, but after tonight he would pay more attention and maybe contact them if one did turn up at Caritas. (It wasn't Charles's fault; the telepathic man had been reassuring Erik about it and Lorne overheard. He was a bar owner; he heard everything.)

“ _...a fool to want you... Pity me I need you... I know it's wrong, it must be wrong; but right or wrong I can't get along... without you..._ ” Charles drew out the last note as the piano notes died off. The exorcist stood up and bowed unsteadily, almost toppling over, and then was helped off the stage by Lorne himself.

The green-skinned demon smiled and patted Charles's hand. “Lovely song, cream scone, but I think whatever I say at this time you're not gonna be able to remember.”

“Mmmm. Tell Erik then, he'll remember for me,” said Charles, head again finding a broad chest waiting.

Lorne quirked an eyebrow at Erik. “Right, of course. Listen, Bruce, you treat Charlie-boy proper and true, because he's the best thing that's ever happened to you. And I do mean the best thing – without him, you'll lose everything you hold dear.”

“My name is not Bruce.” Erik was perplexed and annoyed at the familiar way Lorne was speaking to him. They were not friends; they had just met. And why did Lorne call Charles different names?

“Bruce, the shark? _Jaws_?” Lorne rolled his eyes. “I see someone has a lot to catch up on in Pop Culture 101. Charles, my blue-eyed Merlin, if he remembers this for you, do bring him to a movie theater or something. He's dreadfully behind the times, doll-face.”

Charles grinned sleepily and sighed. “Mmm. Okay. Remember that for me too, Erik.”


	2. Chapter 2

Charles woke up with a bad taste in his mouth and the sensation of fifty-eight serpents writhing in his belly. When he finally struggled to the bathroom and had thrown up what felt like his entire insides, he crawled to the vanity and stared at himself in the mirror.

_This is why I don't drink,_ he groaned internally. His hair was mussed beyond the help of a comb and his face, already English-pale, was now blotchy and his hated freckles stood out in stark contrast. Red-rimmed eyes, unfocused despite his best efforts, stared blankly at the face peering at him. "That's not my face," he mumbled.

"Unfortunately it is," someone said quietly from the door. 

Charles winced and turned to regard his friend Erik. "Don't. Talk. So loud. Hurts."

"I will attempt to whisper then," said Erik in a much softer voice, though the amusement in his eyes was still very obvious. He hunkered down and helped Charles to his unsteady feet. "Thankfully you had little trouble falling asleep, my friend, otherwise I might have been forced to do something I did not wish to do."

Charles raised his eyebrows, which, considering how he was feeling, was a hundred times more weight than he cared to raise. 

"I would have knocked you out." Erik grinned.

The telepath rolled his eyes and then sagged against Erik's supporting arms. His legs still felt wobbly and he grumbled under his breath about the Host's suggestion of drinking _Rampant Paranoia_ together with _Black Ilinder._ The last thing Charles remembered imbibing was something the Host had called _Farewell and Goodbye_ , and Charles rather believed that it had done just that to all his brain cells.

With Erik's gentle maneuvering Charles was led back to the bed and tucked in. The Genoshan looked genuinely amused and concerned by Charles's state, and ran a rough hand over the mess that was Charles's hair. The telepath hummed and leaned into the touch, lips curling sleepily into a smile. "What time are we supposed to check out?"

"The reception said we were supposed to check out at ten, but I've convinced her to let us stay a little longer," said Erik, finger-combing the rich brown tresses into some semblance of order. Charles was almost purring with pleasure at the caressing touches, but restrained himself.

"What time is it now?"

"Noon. Are you hungry?" asked Erik, ignoring the hungover Charles's squeak of alarm. "I can ask the kitchen to bring up some food."

Charles was trying to sit up and Erik was pushing him back down by the shoulders. "No, no no no no... we're supposed to be on the road now! We're supposed to be in San Francisco by tomorrow and if we don't leave now-"

"Charles." Erik's voice was firm and his gaze narrowed sternly. "You cannot drive the car like this. Rest, and when you feel better, we shall then proceed to the next city to look for Alxmrs. If he has managed to keep safe these five months, he should be able to remain safe for one more evening."

Charles had nothing to say. Part of it was because Erik was very forceful when he was in his leader-mode, and a very large part was because Charles had had fantasies of Erik pinning him down by the shoulders and looming over him and staring into his eyes, _just like that, only Erik will be smiling a little, that wicked little smile, and then Erik will lean down to tease, nibbling on my lips and down my neck, his sharp teeth threatening my skin, marking me all over, gods, and we'd be naked, and Erik looks so good half-naked that he shouldn't wear clothes, ever, just let Erik wander around naked forever but then others would see him naked too, and I will need to blind them before he does with his gorgeous body..._

The Genoshan abruptly removed his hands and hopped off the bed, his face suspiciously flushed, and cleared his throat with something close to embarrassment. "I will find some more... water," he said, and scurried away from Charles's room.

The telepathic exorcist frowned, slightly befuddled by Erik's hasty retreat. Then he rolled over and burrowed into the cool pillow before he drifted back into sleep. 

 

 

 

When he woke up again a while after Erik left his room, his headache had faded a lot and he could recall more of what happened the night before, and then he realized what happened that morning when Erik came to check on him.

_Oh bollocks._ Charles whimpered into his pillow when he finally figured out why Erik had departed from the room so abruptly.  _I cannot **believe** I projected my fantasy to the object of my lust!_

It took Charles a good ten minutes of panicked hyperventilation and screaming into his pillow before he calmed down from the edge of hysteria and decided to never, EVER, let Erik know that he knew Erik knew of his crush on Erik. And to never, EVER, drink again.

 

 

They eventually managed to leave for Fresno at four in the afternoon, and by then Charles was resolutely refusing to acknowledge how absolutely  _mortified_  he was.

Now the two men were cruising down the highway out of Los Angeles and neither were talking. Erik was staring out the window, looking at the passing cars and probably sensing the metal of each vehicle and structure as Charles zoomed past. The telepath was trying to focus on the road, but the distance between them gnawed on him. Though Erik was never demonstrative about his feelings, unlike Darkholme, he was always relaxed and open around Charles. His mind would be brimming with questions and strategies and thoughts that Charles could pick out and discuss at any time, and Charles liked to pull out bright memories from Erik to hear the metal-manipulator talk about them.

However, the Genoshan's mind was silent, rigid and tense, or at least that was what Charles could gather when he brushed faintly against Erik's mind. It was rather intriguing to know that Erik could and did school his thoughts. The Genoshan had been trained in this, Charles realized, and that led to more questions that Erik might have answered if Charles had dared to ask.

Still, Charles could not help feeling a little relieved when they finally reached Fresno. They had elected to stop here for a day and proceed to San Francisco later, primarily because there had been reports of an arsonist. The odd thing was that there were never any incendiary device found at the arson sites, and those sites were always in deserted places. 

Erik and Darkholme were certain that one of their comrades was here in Fresno, and if they could find their fellow Genoshan Alxmrs, they would more than likely be able to locate Darwn.

"So. Fresno." Charles topped the car, rubbed his hands together and regarded Erik, who was resolutely not looking at him. "How shall we begin our search?"

"Charles." 

"Yep."

"We must talk." The tips of Erik's ears were pink. Finally the beautiful eyes flicked over and met Charles's nervous gaze. "Before we seek out Alxmrs, I think... I think we ought to discuss what happened this morning."

Looking away, Charles swallowed and muttered, "I-I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Charles, you are neither a liar nor a coward," said Erik firmly and quietly. "If you had been either I would not have entrusted my life nor my sister's to your protection. Please look at me."

The telepath took a deep breath and licked his lips before returning his attention to Erik. Carefully shutting his mind from any mental rejection from Erik, Charles began, "I am so sorry for what happened. I must have lost control of my... I lost control, and this never happens but it did, and I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable or, um. I just... If you wish to... move out of the home, I mean, house, because... because I, erm. Because of me? Please don't. More than anything else I consider you a friend. And I really, really want to help you find your people, and, uh..." Charles floundered for more eloquence and came up short. "Please. Erik. I just... I want to be your friend, and I don't dare ask for anything more."

The Genoshan studied Charles's expression closely, and as the seconds dragged by Charles could feel himself withering and curling up. He wished Erik would say something, yet he desperately prayed that Erik would let things drop. However, he had an unsettling suspicion that Erik Lehnsherr was not someone who allowed things to fester.

"Charles."

The telepath bit his lower lip to keep from wincing.

Erik ran a large hand through his short hair and rubbed his upper lip as if trying to find the words to frame his thoughts. "Charles. I-I am flattered that you are... that you consider me a viable option for a mate. I am deeply - honoured - and I... I must admit, I was not prepared to see myself being thus considered." He cleared his throat and went on, "I... I left this morning to... allow you privacy. But I do not and will not think any less of you should you continue to... to regard me in that light.

Charles could barely keep a straight face. Erik had, in spite of his linguistic limitations, managed to find the least hurtful way to tell Charles that he did not find Charles's fantasizing about him repugnant. The relief must have been apparent to Erik, because the Genoshan metal manipulator did grin then, that glorious display of teeth that did things to Charles's insides. Charles returned that with one of his own, a lot less sharky and a lot more embarrassed gratitude, and before he could talk himself out of the impulse he reached over and clasped Erik's right hand.

"Thank you, my friend," he said quietly, and if Erik placing his left hand over Charles's was any indication, the friendship between them had not changed an iota.

 

  


It was not long before they heard the sirens and Charles eavesdropped unabashedly on the mind of one of the firefighters. He was soon rewarded with a location.

"We'll have to head north," he told Erik, and when they came to North Friant Road Charles made a right turn instead of going to where the firefighters were hurtling towards. As he killed the engine he started scanning for the minds around him. "Erik, give me your hand."

The metal manipulator responded instantly and placed his palm over Charles's. "Do you feel him?"

_I'm sensing something alien, but I don't know whether it is who you think it is._  Charles closed his eyes, allowing Erik to ride along as a passenger, while trusting Erik to keep an eye out in case of danger. _Alxmrs? Alxmrs, is that you?_

_'Who is this?'_

_I'm a friend, I'm with Erkrlhnsher._

__

The mental voice on the other end was young, but there was a hint of hard defiance about it. _'Why should I trust you?'_

Charles squeezed Erik's hand and Erik took over the conversation, using Charles as the conduit. _'Alxmrs, it is good to hear your voice again, jejnal-ivilnka. That is an Earthling, Charles Xavier. He is a comrade. It has been many moons since I left Genosha, and I have been seeking you and others. Where are you now?'_

_'I am now in a place with many trees.'_

With a roll of his eyes, Charles interjected, _Could you please look around you for any board that has lettering?_

_'You... are going to see through my eyes?'_ The defiance intensified to determined rejection.

_'Alxmrs. If you do not trust him then you are saying that you do not trust me.'_ Erik's grip tightened and Charles felt his heart flutter alarmingly. _'Look around, Charles. Jejnal-ivilnka, behave yourself.'_

The exorcist swallowed the butterflies in his stomach - he was NOT a teenage girl, for heaven's sake! - and through Alxmrs eyes, he noted the street sign and smiled. Less than a block from here, if he recalled the map earlier accurately, and he thanked Alxmrs before carefully disengaging himself from Erik's mind. "Let's go."

Just as he revved the engine, Charles heard a psychic scream and he suddenly bolted upright in shock. Before he understood why, his car was speeding insanely down the narrow road. Erik shouted when the car turned a little too fast, mounting the curb and bouncing down roughly.

The vehicle stopped and Charles stumbled out of the car, blindly seeking the source of the shriek. Erik followed after at a quick pace, calling out to Charles, but when they stumbled into a grove Charles halted in his tracks. One blond youth was sprawled over the ground, while a blonde woman clad all in white was seated on a log with a sneer on her lovely face. Erik stalked forward and stood in front of Charles and spoke rapidly with the woman in Genoshan, but Charles was examining the fallen young man and did not follow the conversation.

Alxmrs - Charles recognized the boy from his mind-tone, even though he was unconscious - had been mauled psychically. Charles felt his blood run cold as he surveyed the damage. Erik then said, "Charles, leave us. Let me deal with this woman."

"No." Charles stepped up and took his place beside Erik. "Erik, this is my fight."

"You cannot think of fighting Emmfrst!"

"Watch me," snarled Charles. He had never been this enraged before. How _dare_  she harm others with the gift of telepathy?

"I dare because I can, sugar," said the woman, Emmfrst, her drawl pronounced and her accent slightly stilted. Her smile became a hint more malicious. "For instance, your people are so trusting when it comes to pretty faces."

Charles stiffened his mental defenses and slapped up one for Erik also. "You took from human minds also."

"I don't have the luxury of a mind-reading exorcist to translate for me, sugar. A girl does what she has to," said Emmfrst. She stood, gracefully. "And I'm very pleased that you've brought Erkrlhnsher here with you. It's been a long time, my darling, and Lord Shaw wants you back."

Erik bristled. _'I will go back to claim his head, Emmfrst. How did you come to be here?'_

"Speak English, darling. We are on another world after all." Emmfrst tilted her head. "Lord Shaw came to your world; he sent me here to prepare his way. You and your people are already subjugated, darling, and we are in need of slaves."

"You are Genoshan!" shouted Erik, incensed, and if not for Charles slapping him into deep sleep Erik would have fallen to Emmfrst's manipulations.

As Erik crumpled into a heap beside him, Emmfrst raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."

"Whose mind did you tear into?" asked Charles. His anger had coalesced into a hard steel ball in the pit of his stomach; he was ready to rip this woman apart for her callous treatment of people and for her betrayal of her own for Lord Shaw.

"A few. Here and there. You don't know them, so why would you bother?" Emmfrst remarked, her polished fingernails catching the light oddly as she flexed her hands.

"Someone has to."

"Weakness, _Charles_. Empathy is a weakness." The woman tilted her head. "And that is why the Genoshans are no better than slaves. They care, oh so much."

Charles maintained his steady breathing although he wanted badly to crush her windpipe, he was that furious. "You sold out your people."

"They were weak. Shaw... Lord Shaw has power. Lots of it. And I get to bask in it, which is tons better than rolling about in the muck, trying the impossible."

Even as they conversed their minds were battling, seeking out chinks in each other's defenses, and suddenly Charles caught it. He smiled coldly and said, "Were you scared, Miss Emmfrst, when he took you to bed?"

That momentary flicker of a terrified memory gave Charles the opening he needed and ruthlessly he plunged forward, slamming all his fury and disgust into Emmfrst. She cried out and shuddered, before her skin sparkled brilliantly and her mental defenses became a fortress against his assault. However, Charles was already past the first gate and he continued his relentless attack.

_Did you cry, Miss Emmfrst? When he saw you in your village, huddled with your parents and your brother, your adorable older brother, and he took you from them - did you even weep at losing them? Did you watch them die, Miss Emmfrst? Die of disease and starvation in the slave camps? Or die in the fields and forests, being hunted like game? Like animals?_

The questions battered against Emmfrst's psyche and she lashed out, heedless of the other two prone bodies. Charles called on reserves he never knew he had and shielded them both from the fallout.

_'What about you, Charles? Loving a man like Erkrlhnsher is not easy, is it, knowing that one day he'll leave you? How does it feel living next to him but never having him?'_  Emmfrst's fists were clenched; she looked ready to leap and physically attack Charles. _'He's repulsed by it, don't you see? He's Genoshan. All Genoshans know that only man and woman can mate and marry. You are nothing but an abomination in his eyes. He's using you, sugar.'_

_Thanks for trying,_  Charles responded and blocked another psychic intrusion almost negligently. He wanted to laugh in her face at her assumptions. _Erik and I have just had that conversation and we have a bond stronger than you, sugar_.

With that he sent a piercing mental probe into her mind and she screamed, physically and psychically, her diamond form dissipating. As she collapsed to the ground, Charles locked down her consciousness and woke Erik up.

"You will never do that again," Erik threatened when he opened his eyes and had blinked the sleep from them. "What if there had been others?"

"I'm sorry, but if you were awake your wild emotions and thoughts would mean that I am the one lying unconscious on the grass and you captured and returned to Shaw." Charles smiled crookedly, completely unapologetic and still feeling lightheaded from the battle. "And now you have to help me lift Alxmrs. I will need to look at his mind properly, and this isn't the place to do it."

"What about her?" asked Erik, his fierce scowl terrifying to anyone who hadn't seen Erik fascinated by a microwave.

"We can take her with us if you want."

"I want her dead."

Charles grabbed Erik by the elbow before he could act on that desire. "Erik. Must you kill? She is of Genosha, like you."

"She sold us to Shaw!"

"She was forced to, Erik, Shaw robbed her of family, of kinship and of her innocence! She doesn't deserve death." Charles's knuckles were turning white. _She watched her family die, Erik, and she mourns for them, deep inside. I can bring that out for you. She can help._

For an eternity Erik stared at the unconscious female before he relaxed fractionally. Then he said, "She must be bound, Charles, bound to this realm, and her powers limited. Otherwise, if at any moment you happened to be incapacitated or distracted, I do not think she would miss the opportunity to buy herself back into Shaw's graces."

_"She has no need to."_ A low voice drifted out from the trees. Erik shifted again to block Charles from whoever that spoke, and the person chuckled softly. _"Calm down, jejnal-odsellvi. You demean me by assuming I will come personally for you."_

"Is that... Is that Shaw?" murmured Charles, eyes round with surprise and a jolt of fear.

"Yes, it is," replied Erik, eyes scanning their surrounds. "We might find-"

If not for Erik's battle-honed reflexes Charles would have been dead. As the telepath rolled over he saw Erik grappling with a red-skinned demon - humanoid, but skin red as blood - who retracted his knives and popped out in a cloud of sulfurous smoke. Erik kept moving and Charles started scanning for the demon's mind, but it was hazy and unfocused until _it was right over him_.

Its blade was poised to stab straight down when Erik launched the knife out of the creature's hand, but before Charles could freeze the creature it disappeared again with the acidic stench lingering in the air. Just as Erik helped Charles up to his feet, the demon popped back and grabbed Emmfrst. 

"Shaw sends his love," it said, and then quickly popped out.

Charles and Erik remained standing where they were, tense, Charles's mind frantically flipping through the channels of the psychic plane. After what felt like ten minutes Erik slowly released the tension in his shoulders, indicating to Charles that he should also relax.

The exorcist breathed out, fingers tingling with power and adrenaline. "What was that? That wasn't Shaw, right?"

"No," said Erik, bending down to carry Alxmrs. "That was Shaw's right man."

"Right man? Oh, you mean right-hand man." Charles picked up the card that fell from Alxmrs's pocket. "So that was how he traveled from his dimension to yours."

"Very likely. He's been hurting too many of my people," Erik admitted. "Only Jengre could block him, but she is not here. And she was limited in her powers, and we did not dare pit her to Emmfrst. You are the first person I know that hurt her mind."

"Pit against," Charles corrected absently as he unlocked the car door and helped maneuver Alxmrs into the vehicle. "Are those two why Shaw is able to control Genosha?"

"Primarily so, yes." Erik sighed and in that unguarded moment, Charles saw the burden of leadership that weighed Erik down, and his heart ached with sympathy. he longed to ease the fatigue from those shoulders, to see his eyes light up with humor instead of anger, to see that smile more often than the frown, even if the frown was as attractive. 

Still Charles said nothing, and as they drove back to their lodgings Charles felt the germination of an idea that might change his life forever.

The problem was, would Erik agree to it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles's idea requires someone to unlock his head. Hence, Mozzie (who knows everybody) introduces Eames and Arthur, and Neal becomes an eager protege of Eames. And Charles is overwhelmed by good-looking men all around him.  
> Bad decisions ensue.  
> Oh, and a demon or two pops up for Erik to show off his skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline is all messed up because I have characters from 1960s all the way to 2012, so I'm fixing the story in 2000. The internet is present, but not as good as it is now, and cell phones are still flippy jobbies rather than smart phones.  
> Eames and Arthur are too damn sexy not to put into this little tale weaving my personal fandoms together, so yep, they're in. And Neal is always too charming for his own good.

They did not go on as they had originally planned. Instead, Charles decided to use the family fortunes for the first time in many years and rented a private plane to fly them back to New York. He managed to sneak the unconscious Alex past the authorities by clouding their minds, but he knew he was going to need more than that if he planned to help Erik and Genosha.

 

 

"Mr Haversham, I require your services," Charles said for the machine. The person he knew as Mr Haversham never picked up his phone calls until he had traced them, so Charles settled in his study to read and wait. Erik was out on his morning run; the Genoshan was working off his nervous energy ever since Alxmrs was brought in and Raven notified. Hank was seeing to Alxmrs now - Charles decided to call him Alex Summers, it sounded so American and sunny and young, and Alex certainly did look young - after Charles spent a whole night undoing the damage Emmfrst caused the young rebel's mind.

The phone rang. "Mr X. How may I assist thee, old friend?" Before Charles could say more, Mr Haversham had added, "We'll meet and talk. Your favorite cafe, thirty minutes, bring someone you trust with your life, and I'll do the same."

One reason why Charles liked him was how innocent and devious and paranoid Mr Haversham was all at once, and how he was a criminal and yet a genuinely good person. Charles never quite remembered how he and Mr Haversham bexame acquaintances; one day the exorcist remembered he needed something done discreetly, and then he remembered calling Mr Haversham, but he never knew how he had Mr Haversham's number and why he knew Mr Haversham was the person to go to for such matters.

Within the hour they were at the cafe. Erik had come along; it seemed that whenever Charles stepped outside of his estate Erik was with him. The thought sent a thrill deep into Charles, and he couldn't tamper the bright grin when he saw his contact come into the cafe.

Mr Haversham had in tow his _own_  friend, and as the younger, slender man stepped forward Charles was struck by the incredible blue of the young man's eyes. He couldn't be older than twenty-six; the sharpness of his vintage suit indicated an appreciation of the finer things in life, but that was not as indicative of the young man's attitude as much as hat perched jauntily on his head of dark wavy hair.

Perhaps he had been staring too long; he missed Mr Haversham's introduction. He held out a hand. "I'm sorry. My name's Charles Xavier. And you are...?"

"Nick Halden," the younger male said, his easygoing smile supremely affable, designed to put someone at ease. 

Erik did not offer his hand nor smile. Tilting his head he said, "Erik Lehnsherr."

"Pleasure to meet both of you," said Nick, sitting next to Charles and smiling into his eyes. "Mr Haversham has been talking so much about you, I had to meet you for myself."

Mr Haversham rolled his eyes. "No, I said, I _don't want you to meet Mr X under any circumstances_ , Nick. There's a reason why I wanted to keep both of you apart, because... there it is. There you go."

Charles had no clue what Mr Haversham meant, until he caught the slight hint of jealousy unwinding from Erik. Then he realized he and Nick had been gazing at each other for a very long moment. 

Nick leaned forward and whispered, "You have beautiful eyes, Mr Xavier."

"Uh, Charles will do, really," Charles replied, clumsy for the moment as he opened and fumbled with the menu. "I, uh, I-I think I'll have the Eggs Benedict."

"Sounds perfect," Nick responded, and without waiting for the other two men to decide on an order he waved for the waitress.

When she walked over she cast an appreciative glance over the table, and then said, "What'll it be for you gentlemen?"

"Two Eggs Benedict, Mr Haversham's order is here, do follow it to the letter." Nick handed over a small sheet of paper, and looked over at Erik. "You've not looked at the menu, Mr Lehnsherr. What will you have?"

"Um, he'll take a ciabatta breakfast sandwich set," said Charles quickly. Erik's vocabulary wasn't quite up to navigating cafe terms yet.

Erik nodded. "Coffee. Black."

Nick and Mr Haversham placed their orders for drinks and Charles called for tea, English Breakfast. Something was off about the atmosphere and it seemed like a bad idea to have Erik with him. Nick seemed to pick up his thoughts - or maybe Charles was desperately easy to read - because he said, "You know what? You two planned to meet without hangers-on. Mr Lehnsherr, why don't we eat at the next table? Unless Charles-"

"It's fine," Erik answered curtly as he stood and strode over to a seat two tables away. 

Nick Halden smiled at his friend and then his smile turned a little more wicked when he nodded to Charles, before he went to join the Genoshan.

 

 

"So, what do you do, Mr Lehnsherr?" asked Nick Halden with a smile that was meant to be reassuring but ended at a stop between charming and teasing.

Erik studied the younger male. Boyishly handsome - in fact, exceedingly so - Nick Halden's brilliant blue eyes (so akin to Charles's, Erik thought) nevertheless were world-weary. He thanked the waitress and sipped his coffee before answering, "I look for things and for people that no one looks for."

That piqued Nick's interest. He leaned forward as he stirred his coffee. "A private investigator then?"

"Perhaps," replied Erik, his smile dark and threatening. He did not trust this young man; Nick Halden was too pleasant, too sunny, too _charming_. But he was not raising any of Erik's internal alarms, so it was likely that while Nick Halden was not as good and aboveboard as Charles, he was not a bad person.

 

 

Charles fiddled with the napkin as he explained the situation to Haversham. "So this... this is what I am, Mr Haversham."

"That's a lot of secrets to tell someone you know by their pseudonym." Mr Haversham refolded his napkin and fussed with the placement of the utensils, waiting for their breakfasts to arrive. "Unless, of course, you have already looked into my past."

"I don't do that," Charles said quietly. "In fact, I can't. Which is the main reason why I've asked to meet you." He risked a glance at Erik and Nick, whose breakfasts had just come to their table. "Um, just... before I go on, is Nick, uh... you know? Is he?"

Mr Haversham raised his brows. "Nick Halden _is_ , yes. Sometimes. When he wants to. But, Mr X, I would also tell you that he's a lot more trouble than he's worth, and he's my closest and dearest friend in New York, so seriously? Don't." Mr Haversham frowned and looked over. "I thought you and Erik-"

"-are emphatically _not_ ," Charles cut in, flushed and embarrassed. "He's... he's not."

"Ah."

Breakfast chose to arrive at this time and they dug in.

 

 

Nick watched Erik as the older man drank coffee and ate his breakfast. Economical, with no waste. And the fact that he allowed Charles to order for him was perplexing; Erik seemed a take-charge type. Nick's attention flickered over to his friend and Charles, and when his glance returned to his own table he caught the tight, intense stare that Erik was drilling into him.

_Ah. Now I get it._ Nick eased off the charm offensive and became more casual and friendly. "So how long have you been in New York?"

"How do you know I'm not from here?"

"Your accent. In fact I can't quite place it. Where are you from?" 

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Why are you asking so many questions?"

"I like to know more about the people I eat with," said Nick with another disarming grin. He shrugged. "I can't help it."

"Why not?" Erik shifted in his seat. "What _do_ you do for a living, Mr Halden?"

 

 

"I need to be able to change people's minds again," Charles said. "To enter a person's mind and... make them think otherwise."

"No. No way, no how. That is... that's wrong on a fundamental basis. There's something called 'free will' and it's supposed to be 'free', Charles!" Mr Haversham was forcing himself to keep his voice down.

Charles held up both palms. "I know. That was why I shut away that particular ability when I was a child. Now I need it, because..." His voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "Erik needs my help. Not here, over where he comes from. He needs me to be able to change someone's mind. I need to be able to do that in order to save many, many lives, Mr Haversham."

"And when you've done that? Then what? You can just go into our minds and control us like puppets!" Mr Haversham hissed. "You coud be doing it right now! Everyone has an inalieanable right to his thoughts, Mr X!"

"Socrates?"

"Spinoza. No, listen. I can't do this. It's against my principles. And I do have quite a few of those left." Mr Haversham cleaned up with his napkin, but before he could go Charles took his hand. 

The exorcist was very quiet as he said, "Mr Haversham, I promise you this: I have locked away this ability before, and I have never regretted doing so. I still don't. But I need this ability to help people in distress. Ii can't unlock this on my own and I need your help. Are your principles more valuable than the lives of thousands, millions of people? Because that's what's at stake."

"Why should I trust that you're telling the truth?" asked Mr Haversham. 

"Because I have never lied to you," Charles answered. "And you know that. You've checked up on me, that I'm certain, and you know what exactly I do for a living. I have never used my powers for anything but to keep people safe. This time, I need all my powers to keep a lot of people safe. All of it, Mr Haversham. For a lot of people."

Mr Haversham stared at Charles, and then seemed to soften. He looked over at his friend and then back at Charles. "Something's gonna go wrong, I know it."

"But you'll help?"

"I can't do it, not the whole 'going into someone's mind' kind of thing, but I know some people who can," said Mr Haversham reluctantly. "Meet us at this address-" he scribbled an address on a clean napkin "-tomorrow evening, eight. And be prepared to pay through the nose. You're lucky they're in town at the moment."

"Oh, and I need to activate one of the identities. A young man. Um. Call him Alex Summers. I'll bring a photograph tomorrow?"

"That'd be good." Then the little man paused as he stood up. "You know what? Call me Mozzie."

 

 

Erik and Charles drove back to the mansion in uneasy silence. Erik was the one who spoke first. "I don't trust them."

Charles smiled over at his friend. "I do."

"Why?"

"Because Mr Haversham - Mozzie - is someone who has earned my trust, and more besides." The telepath turned up the driveway and they eventually stopped outside the building. Charles then linked his mind to the Genoshan. "He has never once questioned my integrity or my intentions until today, but he knows who he's working with. He has contacts of all kinds, and he's a canny reader of people. That's why he gave in."

"What did you ask him to do?"

Charles hesitated. Then he touched Erik's shoulder. "I will tell you more after I meet with Mr Haversham's friends, I promise." He swallowed and allowed himself to grip the broad shoulder. "Do you trust me?"

"With our lives, Charles," replied Erik, a small smile hovering on his lips. "Especially with mine."

That made something warm and painful bloom inside the telepath's heart. Charles's replying smile was sweet and somewhat sad. He then nodded his head at the mansion. "Come on. Hank just told me that Alex is awake."

"Alex?"

"Um," _Alxmrs_ , Charles thought into Erik's mind. "It's hard to pronounce Genoshan names," he explained.

Erik chuckled and led the way. "You're not trying hard enough."

 

 

Alxmrs was grateful to Charles's help that other night, and thanked him profusely. Charles blushed when the young man told Erik loudly in Genoshan (and filtered through Erik's mind) that Erik had better be treating Charles right, and asked whether they were friends or life-mates.

Erik's response had been to blush and then to cuff Alex over the head affectionately. The blond hopped off the bed and was taken on a tour by Raven and Hank, and he seemed none the worse for wear.

"He _is_  all right though, isn't he?" Erik asked quietly once the younger man had left.

Charles nodded in affirmation. "He may have some headaches, a couple of nightmares - nothing too traumatic - in the next few days as his psyche works the kinks out, but otherwise he is fine."

"He's a danger, Charles," said Erik. "He must have... someplace that is safe."

"This is a safe house, Erik."

"I meant safe for everyone else." Erik looked intensely into Charles's gaze, pinning the exorcist. ' _Look in my mind,'_  he invited.

Charles did, and when he returned to his own mind he was quite thoughtful for some time. Then he said, "Perhaps I should introduce Alex to the basement."

 

 

Alex was awed by the basement. _'I can just- I really can?"_

"Yes," said Charles aloud, reinforcing that with the mental equivalent. 

That seemed to really floor Alex though, and he glanced from Erik to Charles and back again. Erik cocked his head and rattled off something quickly in Genoshan, but Charles didn't catch the dialogue becuase he was suddenly swamped by the surge of gratitude and curiosity from Alex. The two Genoshan rebels' talk was interrupted when the intercom sounded urgently. Charles picked it up and it was Hank on the other end.

"Charles, we have company," he said, with the familiar inflection on the last word.

Charles winced. "Who and how many?"

"The Sevlaer, and there are three of them." Hank's agitated whisper turned into a deep growl. "Very much in the 'armed' and 'pissed off' categories."

It sometimes amused Charles that Hank never swore or even used rough language until he tuned in to his demon aspect. Still, it was time for Erik and himself to get to work. "We're coming up."

Erik and Alex had stopped talking by then. Erik raised his brows. "What is it?"

"Sevlaer demons. I brokered a deal three weeks ago, about some real estate and they didn't benefit quite as much as they wanted," said Charles. "So I think they're looking for me." Then he hissed out. "They're impervious to matter. As in, actual material attacks do not work."

"You mean-"

"Yeah. I'm gonna have to use their minds against them but I can't," said Charles. He almost added _not yet_  but held his tongue.

Alex was unable to follow the conversation but Charles dropped the relevant information in his head. The young man smirked and said to Charles, _'What I do isn't really material, is it?'_

_Actually, you're right. It isn't._  Charles grinned. Then he called Hank. "They're out on the lawn?"

"Yes. They want you, and they are rather civilized about the whole 'we're gonna kill everyone but first we want Charles Xavier to watch and suffer horribly' thing. Raven is spitting mad, and can you please fucking come up already?"

Charles chuckled and waved for Erik and Alex to follow.

"The Sevlaers aren't barbaric, unlike many demon races," he said to Erik. "But they do behave a lot like the mob."

As Hank had said, the Sevlaers were outside on the lawn, and they wore battle armor: elegant equipment with gold trim and dark jewels encrusted on the arm braces. Charles took a deep breath. _Alex, follow me please._

_'Sure.'_ The blond was staring at Hank's blue form with something akin to delight but he trailed after Charles.

Erik did not wait for an invitation to stride along just ahead of Alex, and Charles knew that there were three small metal spheres floating just behind Erik.

Charles cleared his throat and stood in front of them, his hands stuffed in his pockets, the very picture of nonchalance. Alex was on his right, almost slouched over like a teenager, and Erik on his left, his military bearing making him seem taller than he already was.

"You." The lead Sevlaer stepped forward; he was at least a head and a half taller, and twice Charles's width. "You were the middle man. For the Lakrenntsa Lake deal."

"I was. Since you know who I am, may I have the pleasure of your name?" asked Charles politely. He could just dip into the Sevlaer's mind and plucked the information out, but he desisted. Just in case they had to attack swiftly - Charles did _not_  want to have to go through the bit about feeling a mind blank out forever or having to endure the throes of a dying mind.

Once had been quite enough.

The Sevlaer sneered, "You will address me as Commander H'keirc."

"Well, Commander H'keirc, I presume you came to visit because you are not pleased by the compensation the Farhal community offered you. Why did you come to me instead of them?"

H'keirc laughed; his voice grated like rocks in a washing machine. "We already have. They have paid for their part."

Charles sensed the altogether unpleasant glee and he let his voice grow cold. "You killed them."

"And now we have their money and their places, and our places also." H'keirc grunted, and he then grinned with harsh pleasure. "This is just a visit to let you know that you will no longer be trusted in the demon realms because-"

"-of you." The telepath took a deep breath. "You are telling everyone that I sold the Farhal out to you."

"Unless you hand over the handsome sum the Farhal gave you, and all your assets besides," H'keirc elaborated. The demon bared all his teeth in a smile that was meant to terrify, but it only fueled Charles's fury. "We're not greedy. You can earn it back easily."

"Or," Charles raised a finger as if explaining something in a lecture, "or I can have you killed where you stand as a tribute to the Farhal, and then the demon community will realize that you do not mess with my clients or myself."

"You and what army?" the Sevlaer behind H'keirc piped up.

"I don't need an army," Charles said, and he sent a thought to Erik and Alex at the same time.

The two Genoshans have definitely worked together before. Erik dragged Charles down, rolled over him and covered the exorcist with his own body as Alex shifted his stance and-

_Light. Heat._

Charles gasped when five plasma bolts fired from Alex's lean frame, and he leaned up to peer over Erik's shoulder to see what happened to the Sevlaer. It was stunning: the bolts of plasma slammed into the demons. The Sevlaer didn't even have time to shout out before they disintegrated.

"Holy..." Charles gaped. He had seen the idea of what Alex could do in Erik's head, but to see it in action was beautiful and terrifying. "Alex... that was... Wow."

The young man didn't understand the words but caught the inflection, and he smiled sheepishly at the way the telepath was practically gushing over him. Charles spent the rest of the evening asking Hank to design something to help Alex contain or direct his plasma blasts, begging Raven to stay to help Erik teach Alex some basic English, and then he started calling his main underground contacts and demon associates to spread the word.

He definitely did not spend any time thinking about how good it felt to be pinned by Erik on the cool grass on the lawn.

 

 

The next evening they met with Mozzie was at a gorgeous freestanding mansion at Riverside Drive.

"You live here?" Charles exclaimed with excitement when Mozzie opened the door. "This is a beautiful place!"

"I wish I did live here," said Mozzie. Then a graceful lady descended the elegant stairs and smiled at the visitors. "This lovely lady is June, and this is her home."

June came forward and extended first a hand and then a kiss to Charles and Erik. "Welcome, welcome. It's good to see that Neal has friends beyond Mozzie and Peter. Eames and Arthur are upstairs already."

"Neal?"

Mozzie chuckled nervously and gestured for Erik and Charles to follow him. Right at the top was a studio apartment, its crowning glory the glass doors and ceiling that would allow daylight to stream in unimpeded and offered an unparelleled view of the city.

Despite him having a castle in Westchester, Charles was instantly jealous. He preferred living in the city, so close to everything and far from the bad memories, but his own ex-apartment was rather stuffy and cramped, more like a typical New York bachelor's than one of a trust fund baby's. This was a dream come true.

"Well, the gang's all here," said Nick Halden from the long table. He held up a glass of wine. "Have a seat?"

"Who's Neal, Mozzie?" asked Charles.

Nick darted an admonitory glance at Mozzie, who held up both hands in self-defence. "June burned your alias by accident. I said nothing."

The young man shrugged. "Eh, no biggie. I'm Neal Caffrey. I didn't want to use my real name because Mozzie said he's known to you only by _his_  alias, Mr Haversham."

"Aliases are invaluable things, Neal," someone with a British accent drawled from the couch. Erik and Charles turned and was greeted by a scruffy-looking man. His unshaven face and bad-fitting suit should make him look like a thug for hire, but he somehow managed to convey an elegance and intelligence in his gaze. "But I like to think of Mozzie as a friend, and he likes you as a friend, Mr Xavier, so I would trust you. Insofar as your underground reputation goes, I have heard quite a fair bit."

"Good things, I hope?" Charles responded. He was warming up to this man, and the accent reminded him of younger, more innocent days. And the lips were plush and looked incredibly soft; Charles wondered whether he was dreaming already, to have so many good-looking men around him in one evening.

The man grinned and Charles was suddenly floored by the charisma in that expression. "I heard some things last night too. I'd say you are more than what you seem, Mr Xavier. Or perhaps I could call you Charles?"

"Then you have an advantage," Charles said, walking over to take a seat by Neal, but when he looked over the man was still gazing at him. "You know both my names and I know none of yours."

"I think I like the idea of you at a disadvantage, Charles," and the way the man rolled the name over his tongue was making Charles think things he should not be thinking at this point in time, "but I'll let you call me Eames."

"That's because that _is_ your name." A lean man walked out from the corridor and adjusted his sleeve cuffs. "I'm Arthur. I understand from Mozzie that you wish to retrieve something from your mind?"

Arthur was all-business no-nonsense, but he was still ridiculously good-looking. Dark hair was slicked back with pomade, and his suit was sharper than a razor. Neal's suit had tended towards the Rat Pack influence, but Arthur's was all modern and sleek and dangerous.

Charles caught an undercurrent of appreciation from Erik, who had not said a word since June's warm welcome. He felt guilty; he had confessed to having not-so-innocent thoughts about Erik, and now he was practically drooling over the luscious men on parade, none of whom were Erik. Erik in his black turtleneck and tailored slacks (thankfully he fit Charles's father's clothes very well, and there was no need to buy a brand-new wardrobe. Charles hated shopping.) seemed almost resentful at their easy banter. Arthur's incisive manner would suit him very well.

And that seemed to be the direction Erik's mind was taking too, when Charles allowed himself a small peek. This triggered a sudden flare of jealousy at lean, dangerous Arthur. Charles told himself to simmer down. "I think we should all take a seat and I will start at the beginning. And, um... I would really like for whatever I say to be kept within this group."

"We're professionals," said Arthur, leaning back in his chair, a moleskine notebook open in his lap. "Mozzie said you wish to hire us, so we will maintain client privacy."

"I'll keep your secrets because I like you," Eames offered with a lazy smile.

Neal sipped his tea. "I can keep secrets. Besides, I'm now too intrigued to walk away, so you might as well include me."

"We are going to," Eames said brightly. "Mozzie said that you're off the leash now, and we could use another specialist in our field. You would love this - after you try this job."

"What job?" asked Erik. His low voice drew their attention. "I have not heard anything about this before. Why are we here tonight?"

Charles took a deep breath. This was it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is painfully honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times for Eames and Charles. Don't like explicit slash? Please don't read.

Charles did say he would start at the beginning, but what was the beginning? 

"I was born with telepathic powers," he said at last. "My parents kept me sedated for much of my early days, until my father found a spell that would lock down my telepathy until I was old enough to understand limits."

"Your father put a _spell_ on you?" asked Eames, confused.

"My father was a demonologist. One of the best in the business. I was eight years old when the limits were removed and he taught me about respecting boundaries. After I had an unfortunate... incident, I locked down a key part of my abilities." It was still painful thinking about it. He took a deep breath and continued, deliberately not looking at anyone in the eye or sensing their minds. However, he knew they were all scrutinizing him, and if he was willing to let them in his mind he must share this bit."I, uh... I made my father, I made him - oh gods."

Erik walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. _'If it's too painful, Charles...'_

"No. I have to... I have to talk about this. I was ten and I really wanted to go to the planetarium that my father promised me. It was raining and, and he was driving too slowly. I made him... I reached into his mind and made him drive beyond the speed limit and he..." Charles gulped and said softly, "We... He lost control of the car when it skidded and we fell off a cliff."

Absolute silence. Erik's hand stayed on his shoulder, a supportive presence, but Charles forced himself to close off all empathy. He inhaled deeply again and finished, "I survived, somehow. But I wish often that I hadn't."

"Charles-" That was Erik again. He probably did not understand speeding over the limits, but falling from a cliff wasn't hard to understand. 

It took supreme effort to control his emotions and go on, but the telepath managed it. "I was in the hospital bed, thinking over how this was... how it was all my fault, that I didn't know better than others. I knew then that I had no right to make decisions for others, that free will is important because, because sometimes other people need to make decisions based on what they know. So I locked away the part of my abilities to make someone do something against their will."

Mozzie was the first to move. "Well. Um. Thank you, Mr X. That was... I'm honored by your trust."

"I need you all to know that I will not wilfully alter a person's mind, not after... I felt my father die. I was in his mind until h-he was... until he wasn't, and I don't ever want to go through that again. But I need this ability again."

Arthur leaned forward, his pen hovering over his notebook. "What _can_ you do now?"

"I can still... I can still freeze a person's actions, give them illusions or false memories, access the language center of their brains, but that takes delicate skill and I'm still quite clumsy with that. I can communicate with someone mind-to-mind." Charles shrugged. "Um. That's about all I can do. No, and I can scan a person's surface thoughts."

"And you're hiring us to unlock that ability to alter a person's free will." Eames cocked his head. "That sounds almost omnipotent, Charles. You're going to have some sort of limit on that, otherwise I think neither Arthur nor myself want to assist."

Erik stood behind Charles's chair. "Charles."

"Erik."

"Why do you want that ability?" he asked.

The telepathic exorcist gazed up at the Genoshan. "Because I will need it to fight Emmfrst, and maybe use it on Lord Shaw."

"They are not here-"

"I know. They're in your homeland, Erik, and I want to help you." Charles knew he was being entirely too transparent but he didn't care now. Erik was his friend, and friends helped friends.

Eames cleared his throat. "Arthur, I think we need to discuss this in private."

"Outside will do, Eames." Arthur snapped the notebook shut. "Oh, Mozzie, Caffrey, you might want to join us too. We're going to need you both."

"I'm all ears," said Neal with a bright smile.

They exited the room to the space outside, leaving Erik to sit in Neal's chair to regard Charles.

Erik's voice was low. "It is not your fight. I am very thankful for your help, Charles, and all I need you to do is help me find two more Genoshans. Ngelrdgess and Mnz are here too, Alxmrs said. Once we are gathered, we can return to our fight."

"Why would you reject my offer and walk into your deaths?" asked Charles. "I saw what Shaw did, has done, is doing to your people, Erik! I saw the burning, I saw... gods. I saw children being herded into- I saw them herded into pens, saw them being tested and then _tamed_  as you called it. The bodies, Erik. You are brave and courageous and incredible, Erik, but I can help. I can. You cannot ask me to wait idly by here on Earth knowing what you face in Genosha!"

"It isn't your fight!" growled Erik. "I cannot ask you to-"

"-you are not asking me, I am offering-"

"-come into a war and watch you be killed by Shaw and his soldiers, you have-" Erik was too agitated and slipped into Genoshan, but Charles read the words in his mind anyway _'a life and friends here. You aren't of Genosha and I will not have you be slaughtered by Shaw and his minions! You don't see, you naive, innocent, blind Earthling, you have no clue what we're dealing with!'_

Charles grew cold. "I think, my friend, that you have misunderstood me when I said 'I am offering'. I meant that I will go, regardless of your wishes, and I will enter the fray, and I will find a way to disable Emmfrst and then Shaw. You are not my leader or my commander. I am your equal. Without me, you will not be able to open a portal to Genosha. But even without you, I can go there, and I will, to wage my battle against Evil. That was my oath when I was a trained as a watcher. And Shaw - Shaw is evil. That much I can tell."

"You are mad," hissed Erik, and swept out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

White with sorrow and fury, Charles sat still for a long moment. The other four outside were not even pretending to talk anymore, but they gave him some time to regain his composure. Eventually they came back into the room and took up places around him: Neal on his right, Mozzie and Arthur opposite, and Eames lounging against the door.

"This room is secure, thanks to Mozzie," said Eames. "So I'm going to lay the plan out."

Charles nodded and forced himself to pay attention, shifting a little in his seat. 

Eames glanced at Arthur - there was a history there, though Charles didn't want to find out more about - and went on, "This is the first time we're entering a mind invited to steal something. And the first time we're entering a telepath's mind. So, the first thing is, we need to introduce you - that means both Charles and Neal - to something we call Dreamsharing."

"It's precisely what it sounds like," Arthur took over smoothly and his pianist hands gestured elegantly. "There is a machine that will hook me, Eames, Neal and Charles together and bring us into a shared consciousness. Mozzie will be our chemist because I know he can get the compounds we need and mix it properly. And he'll be our wake-up call into this reality."

"Neal is a gifted forger, thief and con man in real life-"

"-was-"

"-leopards don't change their spots, darling, not even if they are hopelessly in love with the zookeeper, and don't interrupt me again." Eames's smile took the sting out of the mild rebuke. "So he's going to be the dreamer for the first level and keep the projections on the run. He dons different skins, hides and leads Charles's projections on a merry merry chase, and we'll get to dream in _his_  head, after Arthur teaches him how to construct a dream space."

Arthur shrugged and exchanged a look with Neal. Then he looks at Charles. "Every level will be peopled by your subconscious."

"How...?"

"We'll show you. For now, just accept what we say at face value."

Charles held his tongue.

Eames raised an eyebrow. "It's quite confusing, but it'll make sense later. Second level is usually tough, so either myself or Arthur will take point here. The projections are usually a lot more... ferocious, at the second level of your subconscious, than the first."

"Even if I have extended you the invite?"

"It's still an invasion, make no qualms about that." Eames rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. "If it's something really important, and what you said sounds like it really is, then it's likely to be in the third level of dreaming. I will assume that this is where your locked away power is, and that is where we need to descend to."

Charles was thoughtful. "A dream within a dream within a dream."

"Yes," said Arthur. "However, you are going to know that we are entering your head, so I want you comfortable with that concept. So tonight, I will share a dream with you-"

"Arthur, love, I don't think Charles is in the mood for that tonight," Eames interrupted. "Not after being so vulnerable and open to us. The emotions do color the dreams, sweetheart, and I don't fancy fighting turbulence in a plane just because he hasn't settled his emotions yet. And I need to sleep off the jet lag before I can train Neal."

"Fine." Arthur sounded clipped and irritated with the endearments. "We'll convene here tomorrow, nine a.m. then. Tonight, Neal and I will learn about projections and constructing. And dying inside a dream, and then he'll make a totem, so Eames? You had better be fucking productive tomorrow."

Eames merely shrugged and opened the door. "You gonna stay here, Mozzie?"

"I'll be heading home to Tuesday," said Mozzie. "Needles are the devil's drinking straws. Besides, I need to scrounge up some of the chemicals you told me to get."

"That... does not make sense at all." Charles was perplexed but he stood up anyway. The two slender men were already pulling out a suitcase and talking in low voices.

Eames watched Charles watching Arthur and Neal, before he said, "They'll be falling asleep on the bed and it will be terribly boring. Let me see you home."

"Oh, no, it's fine, I drove."

"And Erik is there, isn't he?" asked Eames quietly.

Charles swallowed against the abrupt pang of hurt. "Yes."

"You wanna ride with him back to where you came from?"

"I have to," said Charles, suddenly miserable and afraid and lonely. 

Eames touched his hand. "You have a place I can crash?" He picked up a duffel bag from the bottom of the stairs. "I promise to be a good guest. I'll make breakfast and everything. I can even sleep on the couch."

Despite himself Charles chuckled. "Eames, there is no way I will let you sleep on the couch."

The broad-shouldered man edged closer and slung his free hand over Charles's shoulders. "Are you offering something better, Mr Xavier?"

The proximity and Eames's delicious cologne made Charles's heart race in a way it had last night, when Erik had protected him from potential backlash by the Sevlaer. He nibbled his lower lip and then halted. Eames stopped as well. Charles looked down at his feet, and then tilted his head slightly to regard Eames, studying the openly admiring gaze and those rich, soft lips. Charles then made up his mind and whispered, "Yes, I am."

Eames looked slightly taken aback, but his smile was kind and eager, and when Eames murmured, "I'll do my best tonight, Charles," into his ear, Charles thought he might just be a little charmed by the (probable) Englishman.

 

 

Erik was waiting by the car, staring into space, and when he saw Eames and Charles walking together with such familiarity his frowned seemed darker and more intense than before. Charles deliberately did not pry into Erik's thoughts or feelings. When he unlocked the door, Erik took the back seat instead of his customary shotgun, and Eames glanced askance at Charles.

"You can sit in front with me," said Charles, meaning _please sit with me I can't drive without some distracting talk because this is the most awkward it has ever been between me and Erik even the time I projected my fantasies this is worse because he's angry with me and I'm upset with him and we don't want to talk about it now._

Eames either received a telepathic message or was a great reader of people. He slid into the place next to Charles and talked about dreamsharing, and the kinds of things that could be done and every place he had been to all the long, long way back to Westchester.

 

 

"Whoa, Charles," Eames remarked the second he saw the mansion. "You are one fortunate fellow. This is a lovely place! Arthur would be so very jealous." Gleefully hopping out of the car, Eames pulled out a camera and began snapping, the flashes bouncing off the stone walls. "He was trained as a soldier, but he was obsessed with architecture and history when he was about twenty. He loves castles."

"You and Arthur go way back?" asked Charles. Erik had stormed back to the house already, while Eames was still taking photographs. Charles tried not to mind, but it hurt, a hell of a lot, and he wondered whether he ought to apologize. Then he decided against it - he had nothing to apologize for. He was offering to help, so it was Erik's stupid pride that was keeping Erik from accepting what might be a game changer for Genosha.

"...fifteen years old," Eames had said, finally putting away the camera. "I'm taking more tomorrow morning. The sunrise will be over... there. Wow. This would be perfect."

"I'm glad you like it," said Charles dryly.

The tone must have said something to Eames. "You didn't."

"No. Bad memories all around, especially after Dad passed away." Charles inhaled, held his breath, and let his breath out in a rush. Then he smiled at Eames. "Come on. I'll introduce you to the rest-"

"Not necessary, Charles," said Eames, keeping still. "I prefer anonymity, and you're not looking for me to be a huge part of your life, are you?"

Charles bit his lips. Then he shook his head.

Eames grinned and ruffled Charles's hair. "Now show me your bedroom, darling."

 

 

"Not too shabby," Eames teased.

It was certainly an understatement. Charles's room had the requisite bed and tables and lamps, but there was also an en suite bathroom. It screamed of old money, since everything in it was an antique; the newest item in there was a book.

Eames picked it up, reading from the cover, "A Comprehensive and Illustrated Guide to M'pokian Anatomy, by Fenrir Pollack." He chuckled. "Quite the bedtime story, huh?"

"I had need to know, because the last time I almost grabbed a M'pokian's, uh..." Charles suddenly turned pink as he recalled the incident. "Its... sexual organ. In my defence, it looked like a tentacle."

"Kinky." Eames's glance at him was one that shared humor, not one that laughed at Charles's expense, so Charles was suddenly very aware of his lack. He wasn't that old, yes, and he was by no accounts that much of a prude, but there was something oddly, enticingly _different_ about this one-night stand. And then he thought he had better warn Eames.

It wasn't that Charles was a shy virgin, but he certainly had not had a whole lot of experience because when he had sex, his barriers sometimes crash down and he was not certain if he wanted to expose his abilities _that_  way. Eames, now... Eames knew of his telepathy, albeit only in theory, so it had not been so difficult for Charles to bring Eames into the dark bedroom with its wide, soft bed and the mounds of pillows. But Eames ought to know what he might be in for.

"Um, Eames, I just need you to know that I... if you feel my mind later I really don't mean to intrude, it's that I can't control, especially if it's really good and then I lose control of the barriers and..." Charles trailed off, suddenly made nervous by the look in Eames's eyes. "I might.... I might grab your perceptions and merge it with mine, and it's... it's very, um... it'll be very intense, if it happens."

The larger man dropped his bag and walked rapidly over to Charles, grabbing him by the arms and kissing him, a deep, forceful pressure, and Charles mind swam with the realization that hell _yes_ , Eames's mouth _was_ exactly as soft and luscious as he had imagined them, and he smelled gloriously of that wonderful cologne and musk and arousal and salt and cigarettes. Charles moaned into the kiss - it had been quite some time - and his hands reached around Eames's firm waist and skittered up his broad back.

Eames took the opportunity to pull Charles closer by the hips, and his lovely mouth kissed along Charles's jaw and exposed throat before nibbling at the fleshy lobe of Charles's ear. "You are so very fucking gorgeous, do you know that darling?" he growled, his voice a rumble all along his torso, making Charles yearn to feel that tremor against him skin to skin. "When I saw you walking into Neal's apartment in those ridiculous clothes I wanted to rip them off you, to find out exactly what you look like underneath. I'm surprised you didn't hear all that, telepathic as you are, and now you tell me that I will _know_ when you've been thoroughly and properly fucked because your mind will be open to me? Sweetheart, you are bloody innocent as all of heaven, and I will get you to that point, I will make you lose all fucking control, lovely, because you deserve a man who treasures you and loves you for the precious jewel that you are."

"Eames, I-"

"Darling, get the fuck out of that cardigan and shirt and those horrible pants, because I will tear them off you soon if you don't hurry," Eames commanded and stepped a few paces away to lean against an antique armoire.

Charles could feel his pulse hammer in his veins; his fingers fumbled at the buttons of the gray cardigan, but became more obedient when it came to his shirt. He hesitated when he came to his belt but Eames's lustful glare made him continue. The other man did not remove his clothes, but he stared as inch by inch Charles revealed his fair skin. When Charles was down to his briefs he paused, aware of the fierce blush that colored his cheeks and perhaps part of his chest, and deeply aware of his aroused state.

"Eames," he whispered, not trusting his voice, and even the whisper trembled. "I... I-I..."

"Take them off," Eames said softly. His eyes were hooded and dark. "Now, Charles."

"I-I can't, not like this-"

"Yes, you can," said Eames. "You are beautiful, love, altogether beautiful. Take them off, darling, because I'm not going to suck you off until you take them off."

Charles smiled shakily, licking his lips - he did not miss the spike of arousal from Eames at that action - and hooked his thumbs into his underwear. He kept his eyes demurely at Eames's shoes as he pushed them from his hips, freeing his cock, and down to his ankles.

"You are breathtaking," murmured Eames. He then shook off the jacket and tossed it onto the floor, before stalking forward and nudging Charles back, until Charles sat on his bed. Eames grinned and sank to his knees. "I shall now thank my host for his generosity."

"Oh," Charles said intelligently, and then gasped as Eames pressed a delicate kiss to the tip. " _Oh._ "

That was about the only thing he could say as Eames started flicking his tongue all over it, interspersed with long, languid licks. When Charles was already panting, Eames grinned wickedly and pulled Charles's knees forward a little, tilting him back, and then Eames took Charles's cock into his mouth and sucked, hard, cheeks hollowed and plump lips glistening even in the dim light of the bedside lamps. Eames bobbed his head a little, dark eyes never leaving Charles's face. Charles was flushed and somewhat breathless with trying to rein in his voice, until he felt Eames scratching the outside of his thighs and he keened.

"You like that," Eames mumbled with delight when he pulled off with a pop to lave his tongue all over the shaft again with obscene, loud licks. 

Charles could only smile. He pushed his hair from his face and braced his hands behind him as Eames adjusted him again, tilting him back even more, and when Eames took him right to the back of his throat Charles whined and scrabbled at the sheets. Eames ran his nails over Charles's thighs again, and then under to Charles's ass which made Charles cry out, jerking his hips up deeper into Eames's mouth, which Eames took without complaint. He sucked and slid his plush lips along Charles's cock, up and down, up and down, in and out of that wet, delicious heat, the tongue wrapping and writhing over Charles in a way that made him see stars instead of Eames's steady gaze.

When Charles grabbed blindly for Eames's shoulder the other man hummed in appreciation, and then pulled Charles all the way deep, deep into his mouth, before his tongue pushed _out_  and over Charles's balls. 

"Gods!" Charles tightened and arched, hips jerking helplessly as Eames drank him in, the rhythmic pulse of Eames's throat drawing out Charles's orgasm. Eames didn't force Charles to stay still, though his hands kept Charles's hips as steady as possible, until the tremors eased and Eames pulled away, pressing kisses on the softening cock until Charles begged for mercy; the sensitive skin was making him shiver uncontrollably.

Eames looked a little smug. "How was that?"

"Amazing," replied Charles.

Eames grinned. "I'm going to take a shower now while you recover, wash off the travel stains and grime, and then, sweetheart, I will pound you into that bed until I am one with your mind."

Charles could only smile at that, and rolled over to the center of the bed. He wasn't above playing the kitten if need be, so he asked, "So should I start preparing myself, darling, or do you want me tight and hot for you to pick into pieces?" He plucked at his nipple and hissed at the delicious frisson; his other hand started skating along his abdomen and down between his legs. He parted his knees and arched his hips invitingly. "How many fingers should I put in, Eames? How big are you? I want to see your cock, love, I want to see what you're going to fuck me with."

"Oh, love, keep doing that and I will skip the shower." Eames undid his shirt at the door slowly, locking his gaze on Charles. "Or maybe you'd prefer to come with me in the shower, hmm? To get dirty against the mirror-" he peered inside and raised his brows "-a full wall of a mirror, Charles Xavier, so you can watch yourself being ravished and debauched, pressed against the wall and being fucked into utter sensation instead of thinking, thinking, thinking all the time. Don't you want to, Charles? To come in front of yourself? To see how far your legs can spread for me, darling, to see me loosen you up with my fingers, darling, mine, to have you moaning and begging to take my hand out and replace it with my cock?"

"Yes," breathed Charles, mind already going fuzzy at the edges and picking up flashes of Eames's thoughts, Eames's imagination and perspective. Charles thought he saw himself on the bed, all wanton and lewd angles and curves, hair tumbling into his face, mussed up, hands playing with his nipples and down at his entrance. "Oh hell yes."

Eames smirked. "Come over here, sweetheart."

Charles clambered off the bed with no grace at all and almost tumbled into Eames's arms, so eager he was to get to the bathroom. Eames caught him and kissed him, this time tasting slightly bitter-salty with traces of Charles's semen in his mouth.

"Take off my clothes, darling," he whispered. "Unwrap your present."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit slashy stuff. And Neal is insightful for a moment.

Charles laughed outright and Eames pulled him into a deep, dizzying kiss. Charles was still chuckling as he helped Eames out of his pants. "That, my friend, is one of the cheesiest things I have ever heard," the telepath remarked.

"You looked so tense you were about to snap," Eames said and kissed Charles on the forehead. He was almost half a head taller than the telepath, and pressed together like this, skin to skin, Charles could read all the images that flashed through Eames's mind and he groaned subconsciously, pushing himself into the broad-chested man. "Eager, aren't we?"

"You have no idea." Though he had just come from Eames's talented mouth, Charles could already feel the stirrings of arousal again. It was baffling, pleasantly so, and Charles put it down to his long period of abstinence. Having Eames as a partner certainly worked its magic.

"I might have some, yeah." Eames glanced down and licked his lips lewdly.

Charles was tugged into the en suite bathroom and whirled about to be pressed against the mirrored wall. Eames's soft, soft lips and callused hands were _everywhere_ , it seemed, and Charles could barely keep his voice down. He squirmed when the larger male pushed away slightly, and he sensed Eames's thoughts - _Christsofuckingresponsive fuck-_ pushing against his own mind.

The pupils of Eames's eyes were blown wide with desire. "Charles, turn around. Face the mirror."

Charles complied readily, spreading his legs without waiting to be told, and Eames pressed his body against the telepath's more slender frame. Eames murmured, "Has it been long?"

"Yeah, it has," breathed Charles. He glanced over his shoulder, smiling almost shyly, and added, "Go gentle, dear sir."

"Keep looking at me with those bedroom eyes, darling, and gentle won't be an option," Eames threatened laughingly. His stubble tickled as he mouthed Charles's white neck, his crooked teeth nibbling and tongue swiping over skin. "Lotion, lube or spit, darling? Condoms are in my luggage so that'll have to wait."

"I'm out of lube," Charles groaned. He reached for the vanity and dug into the drawers, before fishing out some hand lotion that he often used in the winters of Oxford. "Lotion it'll have to be."

"I'm supposed to be showering," grumbled Eames, though his tone was still amused. 

"I believe that your fingers can be doing something better than rubbing shower gel all over youself." The telepath grinned and licked his lower lip. "Though if I get anything from you other than a fucking good time, I will kick your arse, and send demonspawn after you to kick your arse again."

Eames ran his hands along Charles's waist, muttering, "I'd rather you do other things to my arse, love, that are much more pleasurable than kicking it." 

Charles heard the snap of the lotion cap and then the plastic clatter of the container on the tiles. He whined a little, legs spreading further; the faint lavender of the lotion was beginning to permeate the air. Then he felt Eames's finger pressed lightly against his opening and he breathed out, trying to relax.

"Don't worry about holding back, darling," said Eames in a low, husky voice. "I wanna hear you, even in my head."

"It's scary," Charles said.

"I'm trained to deal with things in the mind, love," replied Eames, the finger circling and nudging, not yet breaching Charles's body, "so I think I'm more than well equipped to deal with that."

Charles nodded and exhaled again, allowing his consciousness to blur at the edges. Always he had had to maintain a clear distinction between his own thoughts, his own mind, from others'. Now he was free to merge, even for a brief moment with another, and he was looking forward to it. Not since Robert had he been able to really trust his mind to join with his lover's, and Robert had always _felt_  resistant until the moment of climax, and then, then it would be sheer bliss.

Now Eames's consciousness was beginning to bleed into Charles's head, and Charles gasped with the utter delight. Eames was pulsing with thoughts of desire and pleasure, focusing on Charles's skin - Charles never thought his white-and-freckled skin would be considered exotic - and the feel of Charles under his hands.

"That's right, love, I can feel you too," muttered Eames. Slowly he pushed his lotion-slicked finger into Charles, circling, withdrawing, nudging, curling and then thrusting, the process repeating and varying until Charles was pushing back against Eames's digit with impatient whines. "That's it, darling, that's it," whispered Eames, and then removing the finger to slick it up more.

"Eames, get on with it," growled Charles.

"You don't hurry perfection, darling," retorted the larger male, and yet he was nowhere near as patient as he sounded while shoving two fingers into Charles.

The telepath inhaled harshly. It had been some time. He held back a wince but Eames caught his discomfort and pulled his fingers out slightly. 

"Too fast, Charles?" Eames asked, all concern, although Charles could sense the lust in his head like a steady roar.

"I'm alright," whispered Charles. "I was just surprised. Go on, darling, I want more than your hand in me tonight."

Eames murmured a soft curse and slid his fingers in deeper. He waited until Charles was breathing properly before he started moving his hand. With each thrust Charles could feel himself relaxing more into the touch, and soon he was rocking back on each push of Eames's fingers. The larger man was curling his digits, seeking Charles's sweet spot, and once he pressed against the telepath's prostate he was utterly delighted by the moan that was echoed in Eames's mind.

"So _that's_ what you meant," said Eames. "Darling, that was amazing. Will it be better once my cock is in you?"

"Yes, I swear, yes," Charles moaned huskily. His hips shifted and somehow the motion captured Eames's attention entirely. The man removed his hand and then grabbed Charles by the man's narrow hips to still his motions.

"Slow down, yeah?" Eames instructed. "We have a long night ahead."

His voice was rough, and his mind was a dark indigo of _patience, patience, it'll be good I promise, patience_. Charles barely had time to nod before Eames was thrusting into Charles with three fingers - _gods the tightness, fuck Charles, how can anyone look at you without wanting to do this -_ at a steady pace. Charles gritted his teeth together because it had been two years, almost, since the last and four years since Robert and it was coming back to him, how to angle his hips and push back in a matching rhythm so that it feels good - sparks, he could swear he saw sparks in his mind - and Eames was groaning and thrusting harder than ever, his own erection rubbing against Charles's thigh.

"God, Charles, if I'd known how good it feels to have you in my head I'd be fucking you right in Neal's apartment," groaned Eames, his mind inexorably drawn into Charles's mental swirl of arousal and desire.

Charles was not able to form words with his mouth, and could only think, _That'd be quite rude, don't you think? We hadn't even talked at that time._

"You're still coherent in your head," snarled the other man, and pulled out entirely, dragging Charles into the shower stall instead of the bathtub. Charles was manhandled roughly so that he was pressed between the wall and Eames. Eames growled again. "I'm not climbing into bed with you without even rinsing off the grime of travel, love, so get to it."

Charles blinked a few times, and then turned on the water. The initial shock of cold water dragged them out of the haze of lust for an instant before the water heater kicked in, and Eames was kissing Charles while the more slender male ran soapy hands all over Eames's body. Charles found it delightful to link his mind to Eames while he cleaned the other man off, hearing the stifled yelp as he rubbed and pinched Eames's nipples and hearing the satisfied sigh as he kneaded Eames's sides and legs. Charles teased the other man, getting on his knees, but instead of putting his mouth to work he cleaned Eames's cock thoroughly with his hands. If he lingered longer than necessary Eames didn't comment, but Charles did catch the small moue of disappointment and the myriad images of what Eames had hoped Charles would do while down there.

"Another day perhaps," laughed Charles, kissing the dark red tip of Eames's cock and feeling satisfied at the other man's shiver. "Now can we get to you fucking me?"

"Cheeky blighter," drawled Eames, pulling Charles to his feet and turning off the water. Charles passed Eames a towel but instead of drying himself off, Eames looped it about Charles and pulled him close, pressing his mouth to Charles's red lips with fervor. The telepath gasped when their erections pushed against each other and Eames grinned, before walking Charles back against the marble vanity. Charles could see himself bracketed by Eames in the reflection of his reflection - his mother had been a vain woman and loved mirrors - and he also had a fantastic view of Eames's superb arse.

Eames looked in the vanity mirror and caught Charles's reflected gaze in the mirror opposite. Then he smirked lasciviously, before swiveling Charles around so that they both looked in the same silvered surface.

"I really like your bed, love, but I think I wanna fuck you here first," whispered Eames. "Why don't you make sure you're still soft and relaxed for me while I go grab what we need?"

Charles would swear later that he did not whimper, but he did, and Eames took a second to admire Charles bending and twisting to slide his elegant fingers into himself before he stepped out to grab lubricant and condoms. When he returned he didn't bother stopping Charles, whose head had been thrown back, exposing his lovely white neck begging to be marked, and the most exquisitely wanton moans were being pulled from that slim body. Charles might not have much muscle definition, but he was delicately tempting in his smooth planes and soft skin. Eames quickly pulled on a condom, hissing at the feel of his hands on his cock which seemed to feel that it had been long-neglected, and then collected Charles from the vanity. As he and Charles kissed, he walked Charles to the mirrored wall and pushed him against it, much as they had done in the beginning when Eames fingered him, and then grunted, "Tell me if it hurts, love, I can wait."

"Do it," breathed Charles. His cheeks were red and his eyes dark, his hair plastered over his scalp in messy tangles. Eames sank a deep kiss onto the juncture of shoulder and neck, sucking gently as he aligned himself and carefully pushed in. Charles's whine took on a new pitch and his breath stuttered. His fingers scratched futilely at the slick surface of the mirror and Eames hesitated. His mind was a turmoil, and Charles felt Eames's mental monologue -  _patiencenodeargods let me in let me in letmeenteryoufuckfuck Charles, Charles I can't hold on longerletmetakeyouplease breathe, breathe -_  and inhaled slowly. He licked his mouth and gasped, "Eames. Eames, love, more. I want more. More of you-"

And Eames thrust in, one long hard push, and they stood together, joined, and panted as Charles's body tried to adapt again to what used to be familiar. Eames's patience was astounding, Charles mused dazedly, and his hand reached down to his flagging arousal only to find that Eames was already stroking him, smooth, sure strokes, rubbing his thumb _ohgodsdothatagain_  over the slit and pressing over it. Eames must have heard his mental exclamation because he did it again, and sometime between Eames rousing Charles's cock with his hands and Charles linking more fully with Eames and pressing on all the pleasure regions in the larger man's mind Charles's hips had decided to join in the fun. Then it was just sensation, pure sensation, because even an expert telepath like Charles could not keep himself focused while his prostate was being abused relentlessly and his cock sliding within Eames's confident grasp. Once Eames was certain that Charles was lost in the rhythm his free hand skated up Charles's flat belly and up, plucking at and rolling Charles's nipples and making him gasp and cry out, his back arching so that his torso was pushed off the mirrored wall.

_Look at you, lookatyouCharles gorgeous, gorgeouswhite and pink and redand white, so sweetIwannamark you for myself, canIhaveyouIcan't butgodIwant to, ohgodtight and hotinside I wannafuck you until you comeuntilyoufaintlook, look at you, lookatyou._ Eames's mental litany was disjointed, nothing at all like his regular cadence, and Charles 'looked' from Eames's point of view - he couldn't help it any longer, and he was amazed at how desirable Eames thought him to be. Even in the mirror Eames was staring at Charles, his writhing body, the stretch-curl of his torso as they fucked, Charles's mouth reddened by kisses and agape, panting, and Eames could not tear his eyes from the obscene and delicious view of the Charles, or the infinity of images reflected by the mirror in the vanity, of their thrusting and groping - _lookatyouCharles lookatyou lookatyou beautifulfuckingbeautiful justthis looklookatyou I'mgonnacome justlookingatthis god comingjustlookingatyou-_

With a hoarse inhalation Charles felt himself tightening and his back bowed as his hips stuttered, his body tightening and he was streaking the mirror with his semen, and he felt a second climax hit him as Eames came, pulsing and thrusting hard into Charles, hands gripping Charles's slim hips and squeezing as they breached the peak, their breaths hot and shallow and Charles _knew_ he cried out, and then slowly, slowly descended into reality. They sagged against the mirror, Charles's sweaty arms barely able to support him against the slick surface.

Eames pulled out carefully and discarded the condom. "That... Charles. Charles you've ruined me. That, _that_ , love, was amazing."

"Hngh," Charles responded intelligently. He was still leaning on his elbows against the mirror. When Eames pulled Charles back against himself Charles thought his legs were useless, knees almost buckling. Eames grinned and pecked Charles on the temple.

"I'm going to be killed by my housekeeper tomorrow," Charles murmured as Eames settled him into the bed and crawled in beside him. 

Eames snuggled closer, tugging Charles over an arm and burying his nose in Charles's damp hair. "And why is that?"

"That mirror..."

"You can rinse it off easily."

"But we're going out early."

"You're paying her, it'll be fine." Eames chuckled. "Sleep well, darling. You'll be dreaming interesting dreams tomorrow."

 

 

 

Since he was studying some notes, Arthur barely accorded Eames a greeting the next morning, while Neal was all smiles and sunshine and Italian roast. June was there too with her pug, but she excused herself after a second cup of coffee. Eames stole a piece of toast from the plate that Neal had placed for Charles before wandering out to the porch to talk to Arthur. 

"It seems as though you had a very interesting night," said Charles as he sat down somewhat gingerly. He looked at the array of items on Neal's dining table. There was a suitcase, open, with a number of buttons and tubes and some LED displays, all things that Charles wouldn't dare touch without supervision. Another suitcase, which looked about the same, was on the bed, closed.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "It seems as though _you_  had an interesting night too," he drawled, and flashed a blinding smile at Charles. "Darn. I was hoping to be the one."

"Flatterer," deadpanned Charles. He sipped the coffee and added a touch more cream. "You have a guy, Mozzie said."

"Well... the guy has me, but he also has a wife, and he's not really able to choose at the moment, so we're kind of at an impasse," Neal admitted freely. "But what we do have is kinda nice. I'm just... You know how sometimes you have a really good deal, and you know you should take it, but you keep wanting more?"

Charles looked out to the two men standing in the sunlight and thought of Erik back at home. "I suppose."

Neal followed his gaze. "Eames is something else, isn't he?"

"Yes," agreed Charles softly, "he is."

Though he was having an omelette, Neal still peered closely at Charles. "But what about your friend? Mr Lehnsherr?"

"He's... It's complicated." Charles shifted and hid his involuntary shiver. It _had_ been too long and they had rushed it last night. "That's not my main concern at the moment anyway."

"Right. The job." Neal dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "Arthur's going to dream with you today. Eames will be showing me the tricks of his trade."

 

 

"...mess with me," Arthur said just as Charles and Neal came out to join him and Eames.

Eames had a glower on his face which dispelled somewhat upon seeing Charles. "So. Neal caught you up?"

"Not quite," said Charles. "He said that Arthur will be dreaming with me today and you with Neal."

"That's right," said Arthur, taking over the lead again. "I have to show you the mechanics of a dream. Eames, you're the extractor on this job, so you teach Neal just in case we need a backup."

"Will do, bossy," Eames drawled with a thin smile, but even Charles could tell that the humor was forced.

Something was not quite right between Eames and Arthur, and Charles wondered if he had inadvertantly stepped into the middle of a problematic relationship. Still Arthur was nothing but professional as he sat Charles at the bed. Neal and Eames had disappeared with the opened suitcase, presumably to find someplace nicer than the floor to lie down on.

"You said that you had locked down the power, and we have never dreamed with a telepath before so I have to make sure I know what we're in for," said Arthur. "Today I wish to explore your subconscious."

"Will it hurt?"

"Only me, if your mind rejects my invasion." Arthur did not smile. "Theoretically, because you are inviting me into your head, your subconscious is less likely to repel the intrusion. However, it eventually will. That is the state of the human mind. What I don't know is how your telepathy will affect us."

Charles breathed in deeply. "So let's find out."

"This is the PASIV. There are a hundred and three sets floating about right now in the States. I am in possession of two, and therefore I need you to understand that what I do - what you're asking me to do - is highly classified. On occasion, it is illegal." Arthur shrugged off his jacket. Even in Neal's home - presumably where Arthur was staying - he was dressed in a suit. Charles was embarrassed about showing up in his old cardigan and oxfords. However, Eames had reassured him that morning that after seeing what the cardigan hid, it was best that Charles kept others away by virtue of his 'old man' style.

Arthur, heedless of Charles's inner musing, rolled up a sleeve and nodded for Charles to do the same. Charles swallowed to see the needle marks on Arthur's skin. The slender dark-haired man said, "In dreamsharing, there is a person who builds the world of the dream, and a person who populates it. The person who builds the dream is the architect, and the one who populates it is the dreamer. The mark - that is, the targeted person whose secrets we want - is the dreamer."

"So I'll be putting people into a dream world that you construct."

"Yes." Arthur smiles faintly. "You're smart. I see why Eames likes you."

"Oh. Okay. Um." Charles seldom floundered, but he was floundering now. "I, uh, how do I put this, I didn't know if Eames was, um..."

"We're not involved, if that's what you were thinking." Arthur was smiling now as he inserted his own needle. "He's just an ass at times. Most times. To me, anyway. But he's a decent enough guy, truth be told, though I'd appreciate it if you never tell him that I said so."

Charles chuckled. Then he winced as Arthur slid the needle under his skin. "I should lie down, right?"

"Sleep well, Charles," said Arthur, and he pressed the button on the machine.

 

 

Charles tugged uncomfortably at the suit he was in. He hated such meetings, especially with Wolfram and Hart. They were dirty, he knew it, but they were too large for him to take down alone and too heavily involved with the assorted lords of hell for Charles to risk his friends.

As he stepped into the elevator he saw Arthur.

"Hey," said Charles. "Fancy meeting you here."

"We're supposed to meet here," said Arthur with a smile. The door opened onto a fairly deserted cafeteria. "Come on. Have a seat."

The food was delicious, the best Charles had ever tasted, until he took a sip from the avocado shake. Then he remembered that this avocado shake was made by Robert, it had to be, no one knew how much lemon to add to the mix together with a hint of pineapple the way Charles loved it-

"Wait, this is... this is a dream, isn't it?" Charles frowned and his eyes widened as people started streaming into the cafeteria. 

Arthur grabbed his shoulders. "Calm down, calm down... yes. This is a dream, and yes, we are sharing a dream right now. Accept it. This is a dream."

Charles breathed in and out slowly. Then he looked around him. "Oh. Wow. I never knew... so this is lucid dreaming."

"Yes," said Arthur. "And the people here are your projections."

"Why are they looking at me?"

"They're looking at me, actually, since I'm the intruder," said Arthur blithely. "But your mind isn't militarized, so they're more hesitant. And I think you're used to having your mind open to some people, so your subconscious doesn't reject incursions as much."

Charles shrugged. "Unless they're hostile, in which case I will meet force with force." He tried to share the memory of Emmfrst with Arthur, and then realized that his telepathy didn't seem to work. And then he realized that his telepathy did NOT work at all.

"Arthur," he said quietly, "I can't, I can't use telepathy. I can't use my mind the way I used to-"

Before Arthur could say anything the entire crowd in the cafeteria roared and turned into huge Kennerim beasts, purple scaled with enormous fangs dripping with venom, then turned on both of them-

 

 

"Holy fuck," cursed Arthur as he woke up. He took a few calming breaths, before he collected himself and looked over at Charles, who was waking up together with him, ashen-faced. "Charles, your imagination is way too wild for me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"I was still skeptical when Mozzie said you worked with demons, but I'm a believer now," said Arthur. He passed a hand over his eyes. "Wow. So that's what being eaten feels like."

Charles was still trying to control his breathing. "Why couldn't I use telepathy in my dreams?" he asked.

"You're in your own head, Charles. How are you supposed to read your own mind?"

"Oh. Right."

Arthur smiled and cocked his head. "Try again?"

"Alright." Charles inhaled slowly and fell back into dreams.

 

 

 

"Had a nice nap?" asked Eames when he returned upstairs with Neal. His ugly patterned shirt somehow made Eames look even more attractive, and Charles rolled his eyes inwardly at being so... schoolgirl. He and Arthur had pilfered a bottle of chardonnay from Neal's wine collection and were sharing it. THey needed it, given what they faced in Charles's mind.

"Yes, we did," replied Arthur without a hint of irony. "And Neal?"

Neal grinned. "It was fun. And I think I've got the hang of it now." Then he held up a lovely red gem. "And my own totem."

"What is it?" asked Charles.

"Well, in my dreams it is a flawless ruby, but in real life it is a cheap imitation." He smirked. "Well, not that cheap, given the hours I put into it, but it is nowhere near the price of a real ruby."

"Finally I find someone to inherit my legacy," joked Eames, slinging an arm over Charles's shoulder. He then peered at the plans Arthur was drawing on the table. "For the dreams?"

Arthur sighed. "Yes. I am estimating three layers of dreams, like the Fischer job. Good news is, Charles's mind isn't militarized. Not so good news: he has demons on the mind."

"Oh," Eames remarked, "and these demons are...?"

"Thus far? Kennerim beasts, Caskol vampyrs, A'un dreadlords, Uasomwe summoners." Charles smiled tightly. "I'm sorry. I deal with them so often that they're a part of me, and it turns out they're quite destructive when confronted with danger. They're really nice people here in the real world."

Arthur ignored the last amendment and said, "My main concern is what kinds of weapons we'll need inside his head to deal, and we'll need a large cache of it where I can defend us while you and Neal take him deeper."

Eames looked surprised. "Wait a sec. You're the experienced dreamer. Shouldn't you take the second layer? If the second level isn't stable there is no way we can go deeper to the third."

"Neal isn't the experienced fighter." Arthur was resolute. "And we don't know for sure that Charles has locked it below the second layer."

"What if he did? The second layer is quite unstable," argued Eames, all hints of teasing dropped now. "I don't know if it's safe to use Neal or myself to take level two, and risk losing either of us _and_  Charles in the third, or possibly fall into limbo."

Charles raised a hand. "Um. If it's fighting ability you need, let's get Erik. He's more than experienced fighting demons, and I think he would agree to help."

"Erik?" Eames regarded Charles. Then he bit on a thumb. "Alright. Tell you what. I'll sort out more details with Arthur, and you and Neal go talk to Erik."

"I can't, not yet," said Charles, looking at his watch. "I'm meeting some clients - Gavrox spider lords - and it'll take the better half of the day."

Eames made a noise and shrugged. "Or perhaps Neal, myself and Arthur would stay here, and maybe Mozzie could come by as well, and then later tonight, you and me, Charles, will talk to Erik, bring him into the dreamshare world."

Seeing no other option, Charles nodded. "I'll meet you back at the house then," he said, and kissed Eames on the cheek before bidding Neal and Arthur good afternoon. The last comment he heard was Neal complimenting Eames on getting the best deal out of the entire job, and that made Charles smile. 

And then he thought of Erik, and Charles suddenly wondered if he had really thought this entire thing through properly.


	6. Chapter 6

"Welcome home darling. How was your day?" Eames leaned against the door jamb as Charles skipped up the stairs to the main door. To the telepath's amazement and amusement, Eames was actually wearing an apron. "I've prepared dinner."

Charles grinned at Eames. "Are we playing at being a married couple already? I just might end up liking this scenario a little too much, love." He kissed Eames on the cheek, sending the thought,  _You've met the residents?_

"Erik was kind enough to do the introductions. Hank has also told me a little about the situation," said Eames casually.  _And cooking is the easiest way to bribe their affections._

"You've seen demons before." Charles thanked Eames who helped him out of his coat and hung it on the stand near the door. "Or worked with other-wordly creatures."

Eames shrugged. "I work in shady circles, pet. Demons, gods... Seen 'em. Never dreamed with them. Or of them."

"Arthur was surprised this morning when we dreamed."

"He has never believed in them," said Eames. "He's a stick-in-the-mud, pragmatic man, our Arthur is, and frankly, I'm glad that through meeting you his mind is opening up a little."

_A little history there?_ asked Charles privately while they walked down the hall to the kitchen.

_'A little,'_ Eames admitted, but since he didn't offer more Charles didn't pry.

When they came to the kitchen, Hank, Raven, Alex and Erik were already gathered around the small kitchen island, perched on chairs that had been swiped from the huge dining room. Charles didn't mind the squeeze; he had never liked the formal dining room with its huge emptiness. When he was a child, he had had to endure eating there with his mother and Kurt... Best not to think of that.

"Good evening all," he said pleasantly as he slid onto one of two empty chairs. "How was your day?"

Alxmrs - Alex, Charles reminded himself - was animated. "I learning English."

"I am learning English," Raven corrected. She turned to Charles. "And we're sorry. He shot down a... what do you call that, like a person but made of stone..."

"Erik?" Charles looked over at the metal manipulator for clarification. Erik barely glanced up from the steak he was carving up.

"No, not Erik, although he is like that," said Raven, apparently mistaking Charles's query for a suggestion. 

Hank stifled a chuckle and said, "Statue."

"Yes! Statue. We destroyed three statues outside on the grounds." Raven tilted her head. "I hope they were not of much significance."

"They're unimportant," Charles assured, though he knew that his stepfather had paid a handsome sum to have had them imported. Still, they were unnecessary clutter for his extensive lawn, and Charles didn't really want any reminder of Kurt in the house any more. "Anyway, you've all met Eames."

Eames smiled impartially around. "How's your dinner?"

"Very good!" enthused Alex. His huge steak was already three-quarters demolished. "I like this meat."

"Steak." Charles savored the next bite. It was tender and juicy, cooked to perfection.

_I worked as a Michelin chef - well, pretended to be a Michelin chef - for a job once. Some of the techniques stuck. But I will never do a reduction again in my life. Tedium, tedium._ Eames speared an errant bit of carrot. "I'm glad you like it," he said to Alex. "You're too thin. Have more chips. Oh, and vegetables. Broccoli is good for you."

Alex was delighted, and it was painfully obvious that he had been starving for much of his stay on Earth, or maybe even from before. Raven was also picking up a ladle of gravy for her mashed potatoes, and sternly told Alex to slow down before he choked. Hank was enjoying his rather blue steak - Charles winced at seeing how raw it was, but Hank did prefer his meat that way - and he thanked Eames politely, while Raven dug into her steak with relish. Eames enjoyed his own meal while regaling the others with a tale of how he learned to differentiate the different grades of beef.

Hank glanced at Charles and the thought followed: _'Are you sleeping with this guy?'_

_Um, yes._

_'Is it serious?'_

_No, not really. But I could fall for him, I think; he's very sweet, bloody intelligent and, well, great fun in the sack._

_'Too much information, Professor.'_ Hank couldn't look at Charles as his cheeks blushed faintly.  _'Raven is certain that you're cheating on Erik, though, so if you ever find yourself in a room alone with her you might want to clarify some issues.'_

Charles was nonplussed. _Cheating on- I'm not even WITH Erik!_

_'I'm not the one who doubts your word, Charles. She is certain that you and Erik are together, and you have been unfaithful to your, uh, "lifemate".'_ Hank darted another look at Raven and then Charles.  _'Be careful.'_

Although Charles didn't like having others probe into his private affairs, Hank was a friend and was duly concerned for him. They knew that Raven could be fearsome when roused, and Erik was her older brother, to all intents and purposes.

Erik stood abruptly and put his dishes away. Charles then shared a look with Eames: Erik hadn't said a word at all through dinner.

 

Erik had not been difficult to find: Charles located him in the study. However, neither he nor Eames really wanted to enter the room, because just a mere contact with Erik's mind sent the telepath reeling. 

"Are you certain we should rope him into this?" asked Eames quietly. His hands kneaded Charles's shoulders.

Charles wanted to say no, they shouldn't, but he knew that with Erik he would feel a lot more reassured and furthermore, he needed Erik to understand why he was doing this. The younger man took a deep breath, placed his hands over Eames's, and said, "Why don't you chat with Hank some more? I'll talk to him."

"I'll be nearby," said Eames with a quick, calming smile, and leaned in for a soft, chaste kiss, which Charles gave gladly. It helped center Charles's thoughts on the present moment: he had Eames's to support him should he need it, and if Erik saw it as a betrayal, that meant that Erik had feelings for Charles also, and that was to the good. 

Right?

Eames jogged to the den where the other three were. Taking a deep breath, Charles knocked at the door and inserted a tendril of thought into Erik's mind.  _May I come in?_

_'It's your house, is it not?'_

_I'm being polite,_ Charles replied, and was gratified that the door swung open slowly. "Thank you," he said aloud.

"What is it you want?" Erik asked brusquely. He was seated in a chair facing the fireplace, not looking at Charles, and his hands were playing with a chain of paperclips that were floating in the air in front of him. The chain twirled and straightened, twisted and bent, while Erik's slim, strong fingers did nothing other than a small flick or a twitch.

"To speak with you," said Charles, focused on the purpose at hand even though he was fascinated by the display of Erik's power. "About the... about my wanting to help you."

"You know my views of that matter." Erik tapped his head. "If not, you can look in here."

"Erik, I'm not going to go into your mind right now," said Charles. "Because I need you to listen to me."

Erik inhaled deeply and faced Charles as he stood. "I will listen. But do not expect me to change my mind."

"From what you've told me of Shaw, he can repel any physical attack," said Charles. He had no intention of being circuitous, not when Erik's mind was thinking so _loudly_ at him. "And he has a powerful telepath on his side. You need my mind, my mental abilities. Otherwise you have no chance of winning at all. Erik, this is me offering my help-"

"If you truly want to help, then you'll focus on helping me find my people-" shouted Erik, incensed for some reason that Charles deliberately did not read.

"I WILL DO THAT," yelled Charles, "BUT SIT DOWN AND LET ME FINISH."

 The mere fact that the telepath even raised his voice startled Erik, who shut up but did not sit down.

Charles was breathing deeply, angrily. "You don't get it, Erik. I want to help, therefore I _will_ help. You have no say in deciding this, because without me I don't know how you are going to find your comrades, and without me you have no connections who will help you open a portal, a stable portal to Genosha. I will help you because _I. Am. Your. Friend._ I am your friend, and I will fight on your side, and whether you accept it or not I will go to Genosha and I will help you fight." The usually pale young man had flushed cheeks and his fists were clenched; he was trying desperately not to go into Erik's mind to see what the Genoshan thought of his outburst. "If you love Genosha, if you love its people, then accept all the ample resources that I can bring to the table to help you reclaim it, to chase out Shaw."

There was a brief, tense silence.

Erik stared at the demon exorcist and then said through gritted teeth. "Will you listen now to me? Do I get to shout at you too?"

Charles swallowed and braced himself. "Yes."

"I will not lie: I will do everything I can to bring down Shaw and his minions. But I do not want you risking your life because of me. I say it is not your fight because it isn't." Erik started stalking forward, his height advantage over Charles making him far more intimidating, and yet Charles could not help the small thrill that ran through his body as Erik came up to him, barely a pace away. The Genoshan said seriously, "Why should you give up a life you know for a land you do not? Why should you risk everything for Genosha? You owe us nothing, Charles, and I - we, all of us here - we owe you everything. I cannot even begin to repay you. How do you think I should feel if you fall in Genosha, away from your home, your friends? Away from here?"

Touched by the words, Charles forced himself to meet Erik's gray-blue-green gaze. Gods, he was beautiful, and in his eyes there was a vulnerability Charles never thought he would see. "Erik," he began, "you owe me nothing. You have no idea... Erik, before you, before Darkholme... I had no purpose, Erik. I had nothing to wake up to, I was a _shell_ of a being. I drifted from day to day, I had nothing to work for. Don't you see? You, just by being here, you... You gave me a... You and your life, your fight, your struggle, because of all that I am more alive in these months than I have been for years. I want to help, because to me, you are the most important - you, a-and your battle, it is more important to me than anything here on this Earth, do you not see? Please don't, don't take that from... I am selfish to want this, I think, but please do not take away this from me."

Charles knew he was babbling, but he could not find the words. How could he explain the burst of delight at having a purpose again? To know that he could contribute to making the world, albeit a different world, a better place through his powers? To know that each day, he was helping Erik, helping Genosha towards freedom from tyranny?

Perhaps Erik read something from Charles's tone or gaze or expression, because it definitely wasn't from his words. He touched the telepath's face, and Charles shivered at the tenderness of the gesture. He sensed the gentle reproach and a simmering undertone of - something - in Erik's mind, but the Genoshan moved away before Charles could read too deeply. He cleared his throat.

"So what is Eames doing here then?" he asked gruffly.

Charles's telepathy reached out and came up against Erik's mental shields. He had learned shielding, perhaps from the Jengre that Erik had mentioned before, and it was an unpleasant surprise to Charles that Erik saw fit to use his shields here against him. Whatever was causing this distance between them was obviously not addressed yet. Still, time was of the essence, so Charles opted to get to the heart of the matter.

"They - that is, Arthur, Neal, and Eames - are going into my mind to help me unlock a power that I used to have. It's called dreamsharing, and... They are going deep into my psyche, my  _soul_ , for lack of a better word, and there's a problem that we face." Charles watched the microexpressions on Erik's face shift from mistrust to curiosity. "They - we - need you to come into my mind as well."

"I don't understand."

"I-" Charles nibbled his lower lip. "Can we show you? Eames borrowed one of arthur's machines and it's easier to show than to tell."

 

 

Erik looked about him. The building was unfamiliar yet not alien to him; the dull gray stone walls about him reminded him of a fortress he once used as a base when Shaw first started his assault on the refugees. He walked along the narrow corridor, studying the blazing torches on the walls, and when he turned a corner to the right, he saw Charles peering into a room. He seemed enraptured by whatever he was looking at. Not wanting to startle Charles, Erik sent a thought at the telepath. To his surprise, there was no response. Charles always responded to his thoughts.

"Charles," he called out. The sound echoed softly into the distance.

Charles looked over and smiled brightly. "Hello, Erik. I must say, this is quite a delightful place to explore." He half-ran to Erik's side and went on, "The detail in here is quite amazing. I can even feel the stone against my palms and smell the age in this place. I wonder if Eames actually knows a place like this-"

Eames emerged from a room nearby and grinned at both of them, his slightly crooked teeth adding a measure of charm, but also to Erik's distrust of him. "No, it's not quite right to use a place that's real."

"Oh," said Charles. "I suppose that's because any oddness would be even more apparent then."

"Smart boy."

Erik frowned. "Where are we?"

"How did we get here, Erik?" Eames asked quietly. The smile was still on his face, but there was a calculating edge to it now.

"We..." Erik looked from Charles to Eames and back again to the brilliant blue eyes. "I-We walked... I..."  _How did I get here?_ "This is-"

The corridor suddenly collapsed, crushing all three men-

 

 

-and Erik woke up with a gasp.

Charles grimaced and shook his head. "Not the way to die, being crushed under tons of masonry." 

"Tell me about it," said Eames with dark humor lacing through his voice.

_Erik, it was a dream. Relax._ The thought was reassuring and Erik clung to Charles's mind. He breathed deeply and sank back. "When you said that we could walk in the same dream..."

"That's what I meant," Eames answered. "You'll need to get used to it, so shall we try again?"

"Alright," said Erik grudgingly. Before Eames could press the button, he sat up and asked, "Why couldn't Charles hear my mind earlier?"

"You're all in my mind," said Eames, "so it's not possible for you to send thoughts through my mind to his. I suspect there's some other technicalities to that, but let's stick with this explanation for now, hmm? Ready? Here we go."

 

 

It was nearly one in the morning before Charles felt too drained to continue, and Erik (bless his heart) did not insist on further training. Once he got used to the concept, Erik had been told what the team needed him to do, and that resulted in Erik diving into Charles's psyche for the past two hours to battle the projections repeatedly. They had dreamed no less than a dozen times, Charles thought, and he felt stiff from having lain in the same position for too long.

Although it was not physically exhausting, Charles knew he could no longer continue after seeing Erik being devoured by the Sisterhood of Jhe for the third time. Still, in each dream, Erik had withstood the assault for nearly three hours dreamtime, before succumbing to fatigue. Given the peculiarities of dreamtime, Charles knew he would have enough time to unlock his most controversial ability. It also meant that Erik would need to share the dream level with Neal: the two novices would take charge of the first level, Neal as architect and Erik as the guardian, while Eames and Arthur went down into the second. Then, if there was nothing in the second level, Eames and Charles would venture into the third level and that was as deep as Eames or Arthur cared to go, because any deeper would be too dangerous. Erik had thanked Eames stiffly before walking off to his own bedroom, while Eames put away the PASIV. Charles watched the two men, lost in thought, and jumped when Eames touched his elbow.

"Time for bed, darling," murmured Eames. Charles smiled at the Englishman - Eames had confirmed that he was from England, though he refused to state any details beyond that - and followed the older man up the stairs to Charles's suite. Though he was tired, Charles needed something more than rest, and after their own showers Charles climbed over Eames and started rocking his hips against Eames's.

The other male pushed away the blanket and ran his hands along Charles's sides gently. "What do you need, Charles?"

"I don't know," Charles replied quietly, feeling heat pooling in his groin. "I just... I don't want to think any more, Eames, not tonight, and I definitely do not want to dream."

"You love him, don't you?" asked Eames in a soft voice, pulling the telepath down so that they rested chest to chest, Charles never ceasing the slow rocking motion. Eames kissed Charles's brow. "You love Erik."

"It's that obvious, huh."

"Well, pet, I'm no telepath," Eames chuckled. "But no one risks their sanity or their lives like that for a friend. He's bleeding lucky and he doesn't even know it."

Charles laughed uneasily and said, "I think he does, too much, and he just... he just wants me safe."

"You'll still go ahead though, won't you?" Eames's gaze was knowing, dark, and sympathetic. "You are an amazing, incredible and stubborn, stubborn man, Charles Xavier."

Charles hummed and mouthed Eames's skin.  _Can we not talk? I really, really want a dreamless night._

_'You got it, darling.'_ Eames flipped them over. "Aren't you still sore?" he asked, wandering over to the bathroom where he had left the lubricant.

"A little."

"We'll just switch tonight then."  _'Unless you don't like it.'_

_I love it._

_'Eager blighter. You get to prep me then.'_ Eames focused on kissing Charles, rolling his tongue deeply, and the telepath somehow managed to maneuver Eames around onto the fluffy pillows. 

_Spread your legs, darling,_ Charles thought as he nibbled on Eames's collarbones, his tongue darting out now and then to trace tattoos on the larger man's skin.

Eames obliged.  _'This is useful, not having to talk. Putting your mouth to better uses.'_

_Let me into your mind, that'd be a dear, and think of what you want me to do to you and with you._ Charles skated his hand lower and pressed his lips to Eames's abdomen, feeling the other man's breath quicken. He purposely blanked out his own head and all thoughts of Erik, letting Eames's imagination flow in, and as the half-formed desires took firmer shape Charles decided to focus on the here-and-now, and proceeded to make Eames a very, very satisfied man for the remainder of the night.

 

 

The strain between Erik and Charles eased slightly the next day, and when Arthur, Neal and Mozzie came to Charles's place Erik was more civil than he had been at their earlier meet. Hank and Raven were not at the mansion, and Alex was in the basement training, so they had the place to themselves.

Arthur was practically glowing as he took in the architecture, and Eames grinned like a maniac as he showed Arthur the pictures he took of the mansion. Looking at them chatting to each other, Charles again had to wonder about them: the way Arthur leaned in and the manner in which Eames peered over Arthur's shoulder, their casual touches (Eames more than Arthur), the name-calling and obvious rapport. The two waved Mozzie and Neal over to join them, while Mozzie and Neal admired various objets d'art puchased by Xaviers of past generations. Alex chose that moment to come upstairs and Erik went to talk with the young Genoshan in the hallway.

Charles stayed in the main living room to reinforce the many mystical shields in case any of his clients or enemies chose that time to come by, while Eames gave them the tour of the house (or at least the rooms he had seen). Charles was adding in a new layer to ward off teleportation and deeply involved in the process, so he didn't register Erik coming back into the living room. When the exorcist finished, he had already built up a fine sheen of perspiration.

"Does it bother you?" asked Erik suddenly.

"What?" Charles looked up at Erik next to him.

The metal manipulating man jerked his chin at the two dreamshare experts. "Them. You have selected Eames as your lifemate, have you not? Does the closeness between Eames and Arthur bother you?"

"What? Lifemate? Uh, no, Erik, you misunderstand, Eames and I are-" Charles garbled his next word, trying to find the exact phrase to define 'Eames and I', and he stopped. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Erik, Eames isn't my lifemate, if it mmeans what it sounds like. He's... he's someone I enjoy the company of, and I..."

"But you are mating with him," Erik stated baldly. He stared straight into Charles's eyes. "I heard you."

Charles felt his cheeks flame red. Weren't these walls supposed to be soundproof?

"I heard you in my head, I meant," said Erik, quiet and calm, "andI thought that you meant for me to understand that you no longer saw me in... in that way."

"Oh gods," Charles whimpered and buried his face in his hands. "I didn't... I have really got to explain... Erik, I don't love Eames. I like him, a lot, and what we do - when we do what we do, I-I lose control of my powers, but I don't mean that I- Oh gods. Someone kill me now, please."

"If you insist," Eames joked from the doorway. He grinned at the two men. "The carpet's plusher in the library, and there's more space there for five men to lay out flat. How about it?"

"Um, okay." Charles scrambled to his feet and helped Erik to his. The contact of hand to hand seemed to trigger a flood of thoughts that flowed between them. 

_I really don't love Eames. He's not my lifemate._

_'Then why?'_ That carried a hint of rebuke.  _'For I will not mate with one who isn't my chosen; this link of body-to-body is too sacred to be treated thus. I hate to think what Magda would have said if I had been this cavalier.'_

_You don't understand, I just... It's different here, on Earth. And I can't..._ How to explain that Charles desperately needed physical relief from the emotional and mental stress of not jumping Erik? Some anodyne from the pressure of seeing Erik day in, day out, loving him with a bone-deep desire and passion and compassion but being unable to act on it? Charles reined in his feelings.  _I needed his support for this,_ he half-fibbed.  _It's a difficult time for me, Erik, but I... you have always been in my thoughts._

Erik allowed the ghost of a smile to pass over his face.  _'Perhaps that is why I heard you as you coupled with Eames, my friend. Perhaps you need to put me out of your thoughts at nights.'_  

The entire exchange took seconds and Charles couldn't help the blush blossoming in his cheeks. Yet he had felt no censure from Erik other than the initial, gentle scold for being casual about sex. It was yet another stark difference, Charles thought, between Earth and Genosha. If he were to be stuck there, assuming he survived, would Erik-

Wait. He said something about a Magda. Was that his chosen?

Charles admonished himself for thinking about Erik's love life even as they were preparing to take a dive into a telepath's mind. It was dangerous enough, he told himself sternly as Arthur readied his cannula, and he needed all his wits about him. Furthermore, the more agitated he was now, the more likely the dream projections would be aggressive and territorial.

Arthur knelt next to him and rubbed alcohol over his vein, and then bent down to whisper, "I need to speak with you privately later, Charles, and Eames mustn't know." It was not a request, Charles could tell, and he nodded. Arthur smiled down at him. "Good. We'll try a practice run this time without me or Eames, with Neal and Erik working with each other for the first time, and tomorrow we'll do the real thing. Okay?"

"Yes," said Charles.

"Sweet dreams, Mr Xavier." Arthur patted his forehead.

 

 

The practice runs went fairly well. Erik and Neal managed to hold out longer each time, and when they finally hit a three-hour dreamtime limit Arthur called an end to the testing. 

"I think we are all famished," he said, rolling up the tubes and putting away the equipment. "Eames, why don't you cook something for us?"

"The drawbacks of having been a chef," sighed Eames dramatically.

"Ah, wait, I have certain dietary requirements and I will need to make sure that you do not break them," Mozzie announced. He had been drawing up multiple mazes and building the mock-ups for Arthur and Eames while the trio were under, apparently, because the table in the library was full of scattered sheets and towers and walls made of stacks of books. Erik and Neal drew aside to discuss some strategic detail, because Neal really hated holding guns, and they were in some trouble when they faced off against Jeilvs demons which had thick, near-impenetrable hides. 

Arthur saw his chance and motioned for Charles to follow him into an adjacent bathroom. He locked the door and said, "Keep all this to yourself. Not even the slightest bit is to escape your mind. I may not be a telepath, nor do I have your demonic contacts, but my very human contacts can make life difficult for you and I can still kick your very human arse."

"O-kay," Charles said slowly.

"Speak to me telepathically." Arthur folded his arms, his impassive glare almost a match for Erik's.

Charles nodded and thought,  _What do you wish to convey to me?_

_'Eames is not as emotionally resilient as you think he is, Mr Xavier.'_ Arthur let the thought sit in his mind and Charles picked it up.  _'He - both of us, in fact - have just survived one of the most intense dreamsharing experiences. He needs support right now, and here you pop up, open and vulnerable and willing, and he latches on to you. I've tried talking to him, but he's obstinate as the Rock of Gibraltar. He thinks he's helping_ you _, when all he's doing is falling for you.'_

_He's - he can't be._ Charles was completely flustered now.  _I mean, we- I told him that- he knows I love someone else._

_'A person can know one thing and do another, Mr Xavier. This is going to mess him up badly, and seeing that I have put up with his nonsense since we were fifteen years old, I don't really want any additional bullshit just because he's pining. When he's himself he irritates the hell out of me, but when he's heartbroken he actively tries to waste his life away.'_ Arthur's tone was forbidding, but fond at the same time, and Charles could tell that Arthur was deadly serious.  _If you are the cause of his heartache, so help me God, I. Will. Break. You.'_

_You may be assured I have no such intention._

_'Then make the break clean, before he starts becoming too attached to you and your bright blue eyes and shy smile and all that.'_ Arthur sighed and spoke aloud, "I think you're a good person, and really, you're too good for him, Charles. It's just bad timing."

Charles smiled tentatively. "If I... If it doesn't pan out with my... someone else," he said in a low voice, "would you give me blessing to woo Eames?"

"If you really can give him what he deserves," said Arthur, similarly intense, "then do so. Otherwise, stay away, because he has no luck at all of any kind in real life, and it's tough enough for me to watch out for regular Eames."

Charles tilted his head. "What _is_ going on between you and him?"

"He's a friend," said Arthur, and he smiled sadly. His dimples made him look much younger. His mind added, ' _The only one whom I have from before dreamsharing, Charles, and I owe him a great deal for keeping me sane and having a semblance of a life outside of this line of work, if only to make sure he doesn't throw all he is away.'_

The telepath closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. That kind of friendship he understood, if only peripherally; Hank would be the Arthur in this scenario, and he would talk to Eames if he saw that Charles was making stupid decisions. In fact, Hank had already warned Charles about his stupid decisions, and Charles in his neediness had not truly wanted to see what Hank meant.

There were three knocks on the door, before Eames called out, "If you two are making out inside, I'm going to bust the door down and take photos. If not, could Charles come out and tell me where you place your lemons and grater?"

"Certainly," said Charles.

Eames beamed at him, and Charles made himself smile back.  _Eames?_

_'Don't listen to Arthur, pet. I know that you're not going to fall head over heels for me any time soon, and my heart is securely placed away from that particular pitfall. I've grown older from that silly twenty-five-year-old Arthur remembers.'_

Charles eyed him dubiously. Eames smirked and followed Charles down to the kitchen.

_'Charles, I will leave after tomorrow's job. Does that assure you?'_

That made the telepath hesitate. Then he replied,  _I will be, as long as you're fine. And I'm so sorry._

_'It stings a little, but the handsome six-figure payment you're making will certainly soothe my poor heart.'_ Eames chuckled outright when Charles socked him on the bicep. Then Charles caught Arthur's tiny nod of approval, so Charles smiled back, and all was right with the world again, at least until the next day.

The next day would bring out the internal demons and vampires and monsters, oh my, and then Charles would be so much more than he was right now.


	7. Chapter 7

It was such a pleasant afternoon to be strolling about in Hyde Park with a friend. Rupert Giles was explaining something from a leather-bound journal, and Charles wondered if he ought to ask for clarification again; he hadn't been paying attention to the older watcher, because he had been distracted by a squirrel bounding across the trees. The scene was almost picturesque; there was a languid pastoral feel to the air, and Charles was decidedly relaxed.

"Charles?" 

Charles blinked his blue eyes at Rupert. "I'm sorry?"

"You seem to be a hundred miles away," said Rupert with a small smile. "Something on your mind?"

"Ah, yes, actually. I'm supposed to be meeting some friends at the pub. Would you like to-"

"Oh, no, thank you. I have to get my papers in order," said the older man.

Charles remembered that Rupert Giles was in line to be considered as the next official Watcher, now that Merrick had been dispatched to California, and it wouldn't be inaccurate to say that Rupert might not have long to wait. The telepath thanked Rupert for his time and strode into the pub nearby; the roads were fairly deserted.

The moment he entered he recalled exactly where he was and why he was there: Erik, Neal, Eames and Arthur all sat at one of the back tables, playing cards (Eames and Neal) and studying the clientele (Arthur and Erik). Charles grinned and loosened his tie.

"Deal me in?" he asked as he walked close enough.

"Let's go," said Erik without preamble. He looked intimidating in a dark turtleneck that had once belonged to Charles; it fit Erik like a second skin where it used to bunch around Charles. And the telepath stole a lingering glance at Erik's jeans, deciding that dream-Erik was a yummy cupcake and a half more tempting than regular-Erik.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Eames, who picked up the cards to slide into his pocket, when Neal tapped the older male's wrist.

"Eames, that's twenty-eight dollars you owe me in real life," he said with a grin and put on his hat.

"You cheated," retorted Eames good-naturedly.

"How do you cheat in a dream?" asked Charles as Arthur led the way through the pub out into the narrow back alley; it was smelly and dark, but none of the quintet paid any attention. The door they were going for was a green one with flaking paint; Charles winced as Arthur kicked in the lock.

Eames shrugged. "I don't know. But he threw out an ace I had in my hand until a second before he threw it, so obviously he was cheating."

"Neal." Charles shook his finger in mock admonishment at Neal, who ducked away and then flashed a cheeky grin at Charles. "I thought better of you."

"What can I say?" asked Neal, spreading his hands wide, "I learn from the best."

Eames smirked crookedly. "And bettered the lesson, evidently."

They came to a three-storey walk-up apartment, with barely any of Charles's projections taking notice, and Charles opened the door without any trouble. Inside was a lovely space, furnished with three single beds, a low coffee table, and a huge trunk on the side. There was a dinette set where Neal parked his hat - the man was in one of his signature vintage suits - and then he tugged the huge trunk over to the dinette set. Erik helped him lug it over.

"Weapons?"

"Weapons," Erik confirmed. He pulled out a Bavarian war-axe, and a finely-balanced katana.

Neal seemed to eschew the traditional weaponry and opted for what Charles assumed to be a machine gun.

Over at the beds Arthur was setting up the PASIV with Eames and the two of them were conferring softly. Charles took the opportunity to go to Erik, standing close to the Genoshan for a small measure of support.

"Charles," said Erik quietly. "Do you really want to do this?"

"Yes," Charles replied. He could see every eyelash on Erik's eyes, at this distance; he could almost hear the other's heartbeat. Charles swallowed and murmured, "Be careful."

"I will. You too."

"I will."

Someone coughed behind them. Neal smiled kindly and said, "Look at me, will ya?"

"Um, okay," said Charles, baffled by the request. It was soon apparent why Neal wanted Charles to look at him - with the blink of an eye, Neal was no longer there. Instead, Charles was looking at Charles.

Eames applauded. "That's a good show."

"Not bad," Arthur conceded. Erik only grunted; he didn't seem impressed.

Eames then leered at both Charles and Neal-Charles. "Can we do this again, just the three of us?"

"Eames!" Arthur rebuked sharply before Charles could even come up with a response. Then again, Charles was considering the possibilities of that scenario.

Neal on the other hand didn't bother with trying to retort. Instead he took some magazines of ammunition and headed out the door. "I'll head upstairs and watch from the roof. They won't attack me if I'm wearing his face, right?"

"Less likely to, yes." Arthur cocked his head. "But once things start getting hairy down there, it'll turn nasty up here too. Erik, be careful here. Charles has way too many nasties in his head that can teleport."

"You've only met Mr Gyammech," protested Charles vaguely, but the PASIV expert was not paying any attention. Charles wanted to addd something else but Neal had turned around to walk out. Charles was captivated by the swing of the hips. Was that how he walked? No wonder there had been so many propositions at Oxford! Charles smirked; he did have a fine ass. 

"Charles," Arthur called out, startling the telepath. Charles obediently trotted over and Arthur slid the needle in with minimal fuss. "Lie down now. Eames, the other bed."

"I'll cuddle here," said Eames blandly as he snuggled next to the prone Charles. The other British was all charm in his bright, crooked smile. "Come on, Arthur, it's not as though you haven't seen worse."

"Worse?" asked Charles.

"I'll tell you if I get a chance to," Eames promised. He winced as the cannula slid home. "But suffice to say that Arthur has no need to shy away from me or to think that I have anything resembling scruples."

Arthur glared halfheartedly but he said nothing. By then the needle was already attached to Arthur's wrist also. The thin young man took the next bed and Erik walked over, looking at each in turn, his gaze possibly lingering a little longer on Charles's face, and then pressed the button.

 

 

 

It was dark, a warm, sultry dark, and the pristine sheets were on the way to "rumpled". Charles sighed with lascivious relaxation as Eames's strong hands kneaded down his bare spine. "You have wonderful hands, Mr Eames," purred Charles.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Eames chuckled, and those hands slipped around Charles's waist, tugging him into a sitting position, and then dipped past the flimsy waistband of Charles's boxers. The younger man gasped and rolled his head back, nuzzling close to Eames as the forger worked his fingers over heated skin. Unabashed, Charles moaned and hitched his hips into Eames's hold, before hooking an arm around Eames neck to pull those luscious lips into a messy, wet kiss.

"Not that I want to interrupt this, but we do have more pressing matters." The light was flipped on and Arthur was leaning against the door jamb of the hotel room, dressed in an impeccable silver suit with a dark blue striped tie. He raised an eyebrow and then broke into a slow smile. "I see the attraction, though."

"Back off," drawled Eames, running his mouth along Charles's bare shoulder. "I have him."

The show of possessiveness made something hot uncurl in Charles's belly and he arched his back against Eames, but his blue gaze was locked on Arthur. The thin young man was unmoved, even though Charles knew his bedroom eyes were almost impossible to resist. But Arthur was obviously capable of the impossible.

"And I have my own lover too, Mr Eames." Arthur straightened and glanced out the hotel room, before stepping in further and closing the door. "Come on, put on your clothes, and we'll try the safe here."

Sighing, Eames nibbled one last time on Charles's neck and then pulled away. Charles pouted at being left with a hard-on, but told himself this wasn't supposed to be a pleasure trip. Besides, the sex up in reality was far better, when he could curl his telepathy around Eames and taste/smell/feel all that Eames enjoyed about Charles, and the feedback loop of pleasure more than tripled the sensations. He pulled on jeans - black jeans, something he'd always wanted but never got around to buying a pair - and a T-shirt.

Fashionista Arthur frowned. "Those are so unflattering, Charles."

"They're my comfort clothes," Charles replied.

"I wanted him  _out_  of them," Eames put in, slinging an arm over Charles and pressing his lips to the telepath's temple. In his other hand was a slick metal case: the PASIV that they might need if they had to go one more level down. "Now where's that safe?"

Arthur led the way down the deserted corridor and then hesitated, considering the lift and the stairs. Charles didn't hurry him. He doubted that it was in the hotel safe, really; he buried that skill deeply, and while he didn't think of his dream world the way the PASIV users did, hhe understood the human mind quite well.

The lift doors opened and a white-haired middle-aged woman with a young blonde girl walked out. The older woman cast an approving eye over Arthur, a mild frown at Eames's loud, tacky shirt, and a disapproving sniff at Charles's sartorial combination. "Really, Charles, I expected better," the woman said.

Charles shrugged and smiled. "The hotel is dry-cleaning my good suit, Miranda. Pleasure to see you though. And this is your new Andrea?"

"My third new Andrea, alas," said Miranda. "If you have any recommendations, Charles, I'll give them a try."

As the two ladies strolled down the hallway, Arthur gaped at Charles. "You know-"

"Yes."

"Is she-"

"Klaardis, Oppenjuc and human hybrid. Excellent memory, horrible EQ, and the fashion sense came from her human mother." Charles smiled. "I do know fashion, but I'm not living it the way you are, Arthur. Incidentally, if you ever want a job with Elias-Clark, I can pull some strings. Your detail-orientedness would suit her, and your fashion sense would help you fit in."

Eames groaned. "No, Charles, please. He's already insufferable enough with the neverending lectures on my paisley patterns. Working for a fashion rag would turn him into a critical fashion-obsessed gay without the fun homosexuality that I can enjoy."

"Homosexuality isn't a  _thing_  for you to enjoy, Eames." They were herded into the lift in the end; Arthur pushed the button for the lobby.

"Stop being so literal,  _Arthur_."

Charles ignored the sniping and asked, "Would there be any ambush when the doors open?"

"Now that you ask..."

 

 

Erik could not take his eyes off the sleeping Charles, not when the unconscious telepath was curled up in another's arms.

For the past few nights he had not experienced the same turbulence of emotion as he had when Eames came to stay at their home - Charles's home, technically, but Erik was beginning to recognize it as such - and erik was certain that Charles had merely been shielding.

It had been terrifying initially. Erik knew that Eames was sharing the bed with Charles, but he didn't know how it  _felt_  for a telepath to surrender to passion and desire. Not until a wave of blinding pleasure practically drowned Erik while he was sitting up in bed, trying to read the latest book he dug out from Charles's old shelves ( _Ferdinand the Bull_ ). Erik had ripped the book as his fingers clenched in sudden reaction, but he didn't even register it until much later; he was caught up in the maelstrom of Charles's exultation. Images of slick skin and eyes, eyes blown to near complete blackness; the texture of rough hair scraping across sensitized skin, of lips moving together with abandon, of wet heat; the sound of the water squeaking across tile and glass, of bodies moving, slapping together, of grunts and moans and words, whispered guttural harsh needy breathy whispers of promises and longing...

Erik had come to himself only much later, coiled like a spring, clutching his sheets and a pillow with a death grip, his own arousal throbbing, almost painful, and Erik couldn't help recalling what Charles had slammed into his mind to help relieve the aching erection. Afterwards, as he walked to the bathroom at the end of the hall, he couldn't help feeling less than disgusted by himself and furious with Charles Xavier. True, he had told Charles that it was all right for Charles to consider Erik as a potential life mate, but it didn't mean that the telepath had the freedom to share all his sordid dealings with Erik and-

The Genoshan took a deep breath and calmed himself down. It wasn't Charles's fault. He knew how hard it was to control his gift for metal. How often, as a child, had he broken the metal frames of the windows or the stove just because he was feeling sick or angry? He had even once ripped off the gates of the town hall and turned it into a wreck when a taller boy shoved Dakhlm off a swing; that boy would never walk again. Charles might have had his gift in control, but that also meant he seldom had the opportunity to let it go out of control, to just release his terrible, unceasing vigilance. 

With a sigh Erik glanced at the stairs leading up to Charles's suite. It was not his fault; Charles probably didn't even know he did that, just like that morning when he was recovering from overindulgence. Erik had seen then the incredible depth of desire Charles possessed for him; it made sense, of a sort, that Charles needed to vent the same desire, and because they linked their minds so often, even the thoughts that Charles might not have wanted to share ended in Erik's head.

The door opened and Erik automatically raised his war axe. In this dream, his abilities were moot. The feel of a weapon in his hands was still reassuring, though.

"It's only me," said Neal Caffrey, still in Charles's face and body. "I need to use the facilities."

Erik nodded tersely. Neal, with his brilliant cerulean eyes, had some of Charles's charm but none of his warmth; Neal was like air or water, fluid and changing, taking the shape of whatever it found itself in. There was an aura of mystery about the young man, and also a hint of remembered sorrow, but it was none of Erik's business to find out. He did however feel a sense of  _wrongness_ about Neal-as-Charles. He knew which was which easily, because Charles would look at Erik and look _into_ Erik, and Charles never looked at Erik without Erik feeling as though he could share the moment with the telepath forever and not lose an instant.

Neal emerged from the bathroom looking like himself. "Damn it," he complained good-naturedly. "There was a mirror in the bathroom - a really, really big mirror, like a wall-sized mirror - and the illusion faded."

"You cannot maintain the illusion with a mirror?"

"Eames said it'll take more time to get used to the idea that the face looking back belongs to someone else, and I don't have the ability yet. In here, everything is about the mind," said Neal. He crouched over Charles and frowned. "And I can't get the exact shade of his eyes again."

Erik almost smiled. "Why not stay as you? It'll be over soon anyway."

"That's true." Neal peered about him. "It's a lovely apartment. Charles said it reminded him of a place he lived in when he was in London - have you been there before? - and I must disagree; the weather now is so much better."

"I would believe that is because of Charles's temperament."

"Oh yes, he's such a sunny guy," Neal agreed cheerfully. Then he smiled. "And he is completely besotted with you, isn't he?"

"Besotted?" Erik was lost. He had never come across the word before.

Neal raised his eyebrows. "He's in love with you. Look out the window, Erik. No one is coming, and out there is the most perfect day ever. I built this dream level, and I know that if I set this dream in London, it'll be gray and dull. This weather is brought here by Charles. When it was just me and Arthur, or me and Eames, the weather was exactly the perfect shade of miserable that I know. But right now? That's not me, and I doubt it's you."

"I... I don't quite see how Charles's feeling for me and the weather are related." 

Neal rolled his eyes. He was remarkably expressive. "Erik, Mr Lensherr, you cannot tell me that you don't notice how he always looks for you first in any crowd. Even if he's sleeping with Eames, he's concerned about you. The way he stands and... Never mind. If you don't see it, my pointing it out won't help."

Erik was confused and embarrassed, which resulted in a half-glower directed at the other man.

Neal dropped his voice. "I think you know how he feels about you. I don't think you know how you feel about him."

"He's my comrade and a good friend, nothing more."

"He's the best thing in your life and you know it," countered Neal. He flashed an irrepressible grin. "And you, Mr Erik Lensherr, are in love with him too."

 

 

There was, thankfully, no ambush, but the many hotel guests and employees did cast curious glances at Eames and Arthur, but Charles led the way blithely, knowing now that he wouldn't be stopped by those projections. At the bar there were two vampires, one sort-of familiar with a head of silver hair, but they were sitting in a pool of sunlight; it was disturbing to Charles, but he supposed it was because this was his head and real-life rules didn't matter much.

"The guys over there with the funny faces..." Eames trailed off.

"Vampires." Charles nodded at the manager, who opened the door to the hotel vault.

Arthur had established that the hotel was in fact a facsimile of one of Charles's many trust-fund suppliers, and so Charles Xavier did receive preferential treatment for a reason. It was also easier for Charles to accept that into his psyche and run the line as much as he did.

The vault was nothing like any hotel vault that Arthur had been into before, but since Charles wasn't a regular visitor of hotel vaults it made sense for Arthur to supply the design. It was a single room with three walls of safes, and on one that had the number 2205 - the number of the room Charles and Eames were in earlier - Arthur slotted in a simple key.

It opened.

 

 

"I'm not in love with Charles!" Erik protested. "He is very dear to me, indeed, but I have no intention of making him my life mate!"

"Life... what country are you from, Erik? I'm not saying you have to marry the guy," said Neal. "I'm saying that your feelings for him are those of love."

"What would you know?" snapped Erik. "How can a man love another man? And I have matters of greater importance than my feelings for Charles!"

Neal stared dumbfounded at Erik. Finally he found his voice. "You really aren't from America or anywhere in the twenty-first century, are you?" he stated. "Of course a man can love another man! It's still not conventional, it probably never will be conventional, but love isn't something that follows convention in the first place." He shook his head and sighed. "I... I know a guy who is deeply, deeply in love with his wife, his 'life mate' as you would call her, and yet he is also in love with... another man. It's not something we - he - can talk about with others, but it's real, and it's honest, and the other man doesn't even want to be married to my friend. I mean, yes, sure, he'll love to be married to my friend and wake up in the morning to share breakfast with him and his wife, to do the household chores together and walk the dog and feed the cat... and just, just share, Erik. I wish you could see how much you can gain by merely acknowledging your feelings."

Erik's jaw tightened. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said at last.

 

 

They returned to room 2205 empty-handed.

"One more level down then," said Arthur. "Eames."

"I know, Arthur," Eames said quietly. He touched Arthur's chin. "You be careful, darling."

Arthur's nostrils flared with mild annoyance. "Stop calling me that."

"Why? Ari's not gonna stop me from calling you that if she were here."

"She isn't. So stop."

Charles cleared his throat. "Um. If we could get on with it?"

"It'll be a piece of cake, love," said Eames with a bright smile, pressing a kiss to Charles's forehead. "And if we have extra time we'll just spend it canoodling."

At that,  Charles had to laugh. "That's as great a suggestion as any."

Arthur tried to look stern. "Eames..."

"Oh, all right," Eames chuckled, "we'll just play chess."

"That is a euphemism, right?" asked Charles in a stage whisper.

"Oh yes."

"Go to sleep, both of you," scolded Arthur with a small, resigned grin. They heard someone knocking on doors down the hallway. "I think your calvary's kicking in."

Eames nodded. "Push the button, love, and kick their collective projection arses."

 

 

"I've always loved roses in the garden," Charles told Eames. "But my mother had them all taken out when she remarried."

"Why?" asked Eames. 

Charles shrugged with one shoulder, his other trapped under Eames's bulkier frame. "I guess it's because Kurt hates them. Says they're cliched and bourgeois beyond reasonable belief." 

They snagged a kiss that quickly deepened, Eames's hand sliding under Charles's dark blue jumper in a way that made Charles tingle. Charles moaned delightedly as thick fingers found soft skin; he had almost put on a little pudge over the holidays - eating snacks in his locked room meant he could avoid his stepfather and stepbrother more easily, whereas running out in the grounds was practically a screaming invitation for Cain to try out his new boxing skills - but it was good that Eames didn't mind.

"Charles, darling?" murmured Eames, his soft lips brushing Charles's ear. "Why are you looking like a very hot yet underaged teenager? And I'm not certain I want to make out with you if you are, since it rather goes against the few scruples I do have left."

"Because I _am_ a... wait a second," Charles sat up and regarded himself, the room, the fireplace, the snow falling outside. His hands were slenderer and the wrists just beginning to round out with flesh. Then he recalled who and where he was. "Oh!"

Eames regarded the younger Charles with delight. "You do make a very tempting morsel of jailbait, lovely."

"Why am I... and why not you?"

"This is your dream, so I suppose that deep inside your mind you are seventeen and yearning for love?" Eames laughed when Charles swatted him. "No, really. I guess you set this dream to be on a significant date in your past and we're going to come across a few important projections."

Charles sighed. "Well. I should warn you that my stepfather is a bullying jerk, my stepbrother, Cain, is aptly named, and my mother is a drunken lout. And this was the night I lost my virginity to the boy I was dating at the time, but you seemed to have supplanted him." Charles studied Eames. "And you look way hotter than he ever did."

"Experience and time have been kind to me," drawled Eames. He pulled Charles into his lap. "Where ought we to go, young master of the manor? There is a safe that I put in place at the study but I don't know where we are at this moment."

Charles nibbled his lower lip, thinking. "We're in the den, the first floor of the east wing. We'll need to go across the house-"

"-Oh my fucking god," announced an obnoxiously deep voice from the doorway. It was a muscular youth, about a head taller than currently-seventeen-Charles, and the cruel grin on his broad face heralded bad news. "Wait till I tell Dad that you're a faggot. He'll throw you out, bitch!"

The boy ran off. Eames got up after Charles had scrambled to his feet a little too late. Eames was wearing a severe scowl. "I take it that pleasant, polite young man was Cain."

"He'll tell Kurt," muttered Charles, eyes wide and frightened. Suddenly he was no longer older-Charles trapped in a seventeen-year-old body; he was seventeen and his secret had just been found out by his hated stepbrother. Eames reached for Charles but the telepath made a mad dash for the door, trying to stop a projection from doing what had been done too many years ago.

Eames swore imaginatively under his breath and ran after Charles, feet thudding on the hardwood floors. He hated dealing with daddy issues.


	8. Chapter 8

Charles used to be a sprinter until he hurt his back, and that was when he was twenty-two, so at seventeen he was still fast, still faster than Cain, and he caught up with his stepbrother. In fact he lunged at Cain and brought him down, both of them rolling on the hardwood floors, and that was when Charles realized he made a mistake.

Cain was much larger than he was.

The older boy had Charles pinned and before Charles could even raise a hand to defend himself cain had levelled a punch across his cheek. Charles could feel his skin tear and the blood from a tooth loose in his jaw; he remembered this, remembered being beaten into a sobbing mess before Cain went to tell Kurt, and Kurt came out and kicked Charles about for being 'a stupid whoring _girl_ , a bitch, a worthless piece of meat, a faggoty fancy-pants smartarse'-

But there was the abrupt crack of a gunshot, and Cain toppled off of Charles before he could hit Charles any more.

Eames was at the stairs with a gun in his hand, and he was looking very grim as he walked down to help Charles to his feet. Charles was just gaping at his stepbrother's corpse and he had difficulty breathing; trembling fingers reached up to his face and, after touching his cheek, he stared at the sticky redness that clung to his skin.

"You shot him," he breathed. "You killed him."

"A projection, Charles, pet, you gotta remember this," Eames urged gently, hauling Charles to his seventeen-year-old feet. There was a rumble and the floor shook. Eames grabbed Charles by his shoulders and shook him, hard, and peered right into shocked blue eyes. "Charles, Charles Francis Xavier, remember that this is not real. You aren't seventeen, we aren't here with your family. We're here to unlock that skill-"

The door at the end of the hall opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man marched out. There was a cruel set to his jaw but it disappeared when he saw Cain sprawled over the floor. Then his head whipped about and he stared at Charles and Eames. "You two did this," he accused, and he started marching forward to grab Charles. "You did this you son of a bi-"

Another blast from Eames' Glock, another spray of blood, and this time Charles saw his stepfather's head disappear in a burst of blood and gore.

"Alright there, darling?" asked Eames, his voice low and tender.

Charles nodded, numbed and terrified, and he just told himself to keep breathing. "I... I can't... He's dead. Kurt's dead."

"Your _projection_ of Kurt is dead," Eames emphasized, and turned Charles to face him. "Dearheart, this is a dream. This is the dream that we are sharing. There's something important you said you wanted to get from the study. Go."

In blind obedience Charles stumbled down the hall towards the room Kurt Marko had emerged from, and when as he stepped up to the door he recalled everything, and he was no longer seventeen and fearful but thirty-one and confident. He took a deep breath and then turned around.

"Eames?"

Eames smiled. "You seem more like yourself now."

"I am," answered Charles. He peered past the older man and studied the two dead bodies on the floor. "They're remarkably similar to the actual Kurt and Cain, I must say."

"And your imagination is far more vivid than most I've met," said Eames. "Most people don't relive an actual day, Charles. Go on now, retrieve what you came to get, and we'll ride the kick back to the waking world."

The telepath smiled thinly and then opened the door. Once he stepped through, however, the door slammed shut. Whirling around Charles tried to tug at the knob to open it - he could hear Eames swearing on the other side of the obstacle - but the knob refused to budge.

"It's already fused into an inoperable lump, Charles." 

Charles suppressed the yelp of surprise. Turning around, he watched Erik step out from the shadows of the study and sit down at his desk. The telepathic exorcist shook his head, unable to tear his gaze from Erik Lensherr. "You're not here. You're up there, with Neal."

"I am here because you put me here," countered Erik. A pen floated over to him and he began playing with it, his fingers running along the thin body and his thumb pressing on the nib. "But you are here because you want something."

"Something important, yes."

"How important?"

"Life or death of thousands, perhaps millions."

"Not important enough," whispered Erik. "Not nearly important enough."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "Your people aren't important enough."

"Not for you. You aren't doing this for them."

It took Charles several deep breaths before he could speak. He slowly moved forward and placed his hands flat on the desk, staring into Erik's gray-green-blue eyes. Charles was not certain if he ought to speak, but Erik matched his stance and they were a breath apart, so Charles had to say it:

"I'm doing it because I love you."

Erik did not smile. "If you love me, why would you put yourself at risk in a world you do not belong to?"

"Erik," said Charles, "I would rather die in a world with you than live in a world without you. I would rather die fighting beside you, for you, in Genosha, than live to a hundred on Earth."

The Genoshan's face softened and he reached a hand to cup Charles's cheek. "Would you tell me this when you wake up?"

Charles's eyes widened comically. "I... I don't know, I might, but he's... you-you're not exactly happy with me right now and-"

"Shut up," scolded Erik, and he pressed his mouth to the telepath's. Charles's mind whited out in stunned delight and he let his eyelids close. In a dream his sense of smell is dulled but even here, Erik smelled good, clean, sharp like steel and rain, and Charles moaned when Erik's hand slipped around the back of Charles's neck.

When they parted, Charles was panting lightly and his gaze had become quite misty, so Erik was the one who tugged Charles over to the safe under the desk and then opened it for him. Inside was a watch, the hands stuck on twelve past six.

"Put it on," said Erik softly, and he waved at the door.

Eames tumbled in and when he saw Erik he shook his head and smirked at Charles. "Darling, you have got to deal with this thing you have with the real Erik."

"Eames..."

"I adore you, I truly do, but you know you want him more," said Eames, strolling over to help Charles with the strap. "06:12? What's that about?"

"This was my father's watch," Charles whispered, and then he wound the watch up and pushed in the little knob. The watch started ticking. "And that was the moment of his death."

Wordlessly Eames pulled Charles into a hug and then murmured, "Let's get back topside."

 

 

When they were finally back in the Xavier mansion, Charles reached out with his mind and he could feel the pulse of thoughts from all the inhabitants. It reassured him; down in the dreams he felt as though he was deaf. Now he felt whole and complete.

"So. How do we know that you've managed to get your Jedi powers back?" asked Mozzie, bouncing on his heels. The space around the five dreamers were scattered with various sketches and plans and piles of books. Mozzie had been busy.

"I could make someone do someone do something they would normally never do." Charles kneaded the back of his neck and instantly relaxed when Eames's fingers dug into his tight muscles. "But that's quite against my ethics. It's back, I know it."

Neal stretched and Charles took the chance to admire the lean frame, keenly aware that Neal was thinking about some other guy, a Fed, though in Neal's mind the idea of that federal agent was tinted with a lovely, soft hue of pink. The former conman perched on a chair and said, "I'd like to know, really."

"Mmm. But I feel as though I'll be violating your free will," Charles temporized.

Mozzie looked from one to the other. "Neal would never... Wait. You'd do anything for a con."

"Except wear plaid," Neal announced, a finger in the air.

"There's no plaid in this house," Charles said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

Eames looped his arms around Charles's waist and said aloud, "Why don't you make Arthur do something he would never do?"

"Ready, Arthur?" asked the telepath, leaning into the warm solidity of the body behind him. Erik frowned at that display, Charles noted, and inwardly thrilled that Erik was actually jealous of their little acts of intimacy. Charles brought two fingers to his temple to signal the others that he was about to issue his command.

And just as suddenly, Arthur marched up to Charles and Eames, and then reached down to grab Eames's hand, pulled him up and away from Charles, and planted a deep lip-lock on Eames before anyone else even figured out what was going on.

Eames's arms flailed and finally settled on Arthur's lean arms; Charles could see the knuckles grow white with effort  _not_ to throw Arthur down. Then Charles released Arthur's mind and the slender male shoved Eames aside. He swiped at his lips repeatedly. 

"That was dirty pool, Charles. I will have never kissed a man," he stated baldly.

"I can attest to that," Eames confirmed, and though Charles could not see Eames's expression he knew that the forger was staring at Arthur, a blend of desire and resentment coloring his perception. "Arthur's completely straight, a zero on the Kinsey scale."

Arthur exhaled heavily. "Gods. Ariadne is gonna kill me."

"It was just a kiss," snapped Eames, hands balling into fists.

"It's not what you think." The other man glared at him. "She's gonna kill me because she would've wanted to see it, dumbass. She knows about you and your feelings. Fuck. she's going to want a reenactment, and I don't think I want to ever do that again."

That shut Eames up, and he stormed out, leaving an awkward silence.

"Okay! I've got my powers back," Charles exclaimed, all faux cheer. "Thank you all for your help, guys. Neal, a word?"

Neal followed Charles out to the hallway while Erik helped Mozzie return things to their original positions. Neal leaned in and whispered, "What's wrong?"

"Neal, your friend is FBI, right?"

"Yes." The conman frowned. "Is there something wrong?"

Charles breathed out. "I have... people I need to look for. How's your drawing?"

Neal grinned. "You need me to put together a perp sketch?"

"I've their faces in my mind, Erik has shown them to me. I'm going to link with your mind and I need you to draw these people's faces, and then we need to use FBI resources to locate these people," said Charles in a rush. "It's taking too long by myself and Erik; I can't do this without help."

"Peter will never agree," said Neal. Then he took a deep breath and added, "Unless you can help me persuade him that it's for an investigation."

Charles nibbled his lower lip and answered, "Let's get the faces on paper, and I'll come up with the case for your FBI partner to work on."

 

 

Mozzie made Charles promise, cross his heart and hope to fucking die to never ever manipulate Mozzie's mind, and Charles told Mozzie that "your mind is far too fascinatingly quirky for me to want to tamper with it, my friend," and _that_  earned him a right hook that staggered Charles.

"Ow," said Mozzie grimly.

"You hit me and you're saying 'Ow'?" protested Charles.

Mozzie glared.

Charles inhaled and sighed. "I'm sorry. I promise and cross my heart and hope to fucking die to never tamper with your mind or even look at it again. Really."

"Not that I would know otherwise, but you have always been an honorable man, Mr X, so don't you let me down." The bald little man put on his newsboy cap and tipped it at the others. "Neal?"

Neal slung an arm over Charles's shoulders and said, "I've an extra commission. If you could let June know that I'll be late?"

"And the Suit?"

Charles could  _hear_ the capital letter drop into place, and he wondered if Mozzie would ever forgive Peter Burke for taking up such a major part of Neal's affection.

"Will be getting a call from me after Eames and Arthur fly off to wherever it is they're off to next," Neal assured.

"Please don't tell him you're a telepath, Mr X. The Suit - the Feds - will use you, and where would we be then?" Mozzie sounded so serious that Charles bit down any thought of teasing him. "And, by the way... Charles, it's been nice knowing you."

"You say it like I'm gonna die," remarked Charles.

Mozzie shrugged with one shoulder. "You are entering a war, my friend. Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting, but if what you said was half as true, then the enemy has strong resistance as well."

With a disarming smile, Charles commented, "Sun Tzu was an intelligent scholar, but he did not have the gifts with which I enter battle."

Mozzie shook his head and bade goodbye to them all. Neal went inside, walking next to Charles as the telepath headed to the study, where reams of paper and pencils were soon unearthed from the materials that were stored in the cabinets.

"Charles?"

"Yes?"

"Do you love Erik?"

"Um..." Charles was flustered by the sudden inquisition. "Why the question?"

"Because he's head over heels in love with you, and he doesn't know it," said Neal quietly. He straightened and looked at Charles. "I spent the three hours of dream time with him on the first level. Other than a few purple bat-thingies, there was hardly any surprise. And all through the three hours he watched you sleep, and the way you were curled up with Eames... Let's just say I am no stranger to jealous boyfriends, Charles."

Charles had to look away. "I'm not his boyfriend."

"But you love him."

"...Yes."

"Then you shouldn't play with his heart any longer, Charles," Neal admonished gently. "He's confused. I don't think he knows he's gay, and he's struggling with all these feelings inside him about you. But you're not making it easy on him by sleeping with Eames."

Charles was flummoxed and he blurted, "How the heck do you know all these?"

"Pure observational skills, my friend." Neal smiled winningly. He had beautiful teeth and his eyes were probably the downfall of many saints. When he was a teen, Charles had  _hoped_ to be this charming and handsome. Well. One out of two wasn't bad. "Something which you might have missed out since you have little need of it."

That part was true. Since Charles could tell exactly how a person felt or what he thought, there was little need for him to hone his skills of listening or studying a person's expressions. Then again, Erik's wasn't the easiest subject.

Somehow his thoughts must have been communicated by his face. Neal rolled up his sleeves and commented, "Erik is easy to read. Just look where he's looking, and that's your answer. Now, do you mind-meld thing and then leave me to my work." Then he paused and added, "And I think telling you to be careful when you go see Eames is kind of an unnecessary bit of advice, but be careful."

Charles frowned faintly. "Are you sure you're not a telepath?"

"As far as I know, no." Neal beamed a sunny and ingratiating smile at him. "Have fun."

Eames was in a towering, icy rage. He had already packed his bags and was striding about the room, and the second Charles came in the younger man was slammed against the wall. Eames growled, "What you did was unconscionable."

"I'm sorry," Charles replied quietly. He swallowed and added, "I really am sorry. I didn't mean to... But you like him. So I thought-"

"Well you thought wrong!" roared Eames. He punched the wall next to Charles's head and stalked away, a wounded lion licking its injuries. "Arthur... Arthur is- Arthur is special. And I've had many chances to kiss him. I have never done so because it's a fucking slippery slope, Charles." His voice was tense and agitated. "Now that... now that I know what it is like, how the fuck am I supposed to keep away? And he's- If Arthur had blown up at me, if he had been angry it would've been better, goddamit. If he had swore and cussed like- Fuck. Charles. Just, fuck." Eames sat down heavily on the bed and buried his face in his hands. "How can I work with him now?"

The telepath was contrite beyond measure. He walked up to Eames, kneeling before him and caressed the clever hands, now clutching at his face, and pulled them aside to look at Eames's dark eyes. 

"I'm really, really sorry," said Charles again, radiating his sincerity. He cupped Eames's face. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing," Eames whispered. "Don't do anything, Charles. Please. I-I don't... God. He tasted so good. He tasted like everything and nothing I've ever imagined, and I can't... Fuck. Charles, how is it possible that you've simultaneously given the best and worst gift to a person at the same fucking time?"

Charles looked rueful. "Sheer talent?"

"Talent. Right."

The telepath had the grace to look embarrassed. He snuggled closer and looped his arms around Eames's neck, burrowing into the little angle of warmth. "I'm gonna miss you, Eames."

"I've left a contact in your bathroom drawer. I can't stay contactable at all times, but that is one number that usually knows where to find a place that can get me." Eames finally hugged Charles back. "Jesus, Charles, why can't I stay angry with you?"

"Because you really like Arthur and are thrilled that you finally got a chance to kiss his mouth and he's not completely grossed out and you hope he might just have to do it again while his girlfriend watches and you've really enjoyed having sex with me." Charles pulled away and plants a wet one on Eames's soft lips. "And thank you, Eames."

Eames snorted. "You talk too much, darling."

"So I've been told."

A discreet knock at the door separated the two men. Charles looked at Eames affectionately and ruffled the older man's hair. "Listen, Eames, whatever happens, be careful."

"I'm always careful." Eames grinned and picked up his duffel. "We're headed to Uruguay. Any speciific kind of demons that we oughta watch out for?"

"Uruguay... It's a dangerous place, that." Charles pondered a moment and then dug out of his bureau a handful of amulets. "All of these are protective wards," he said. "And they blind supernatural creatures to your presence. You should give one of those to all whom you care a lot about. But make sure you wear them all the time, especially outdoors, and don't take them off until you're back in the safety of your homes."

Eames looped one over his head. "Got it."

"And make sure you always have a cross on you," added Charles. Before Eames could respond, he said, "One that is not tattooed on your skin, darling."

The knock on the door was now less discreet. Charles and Eames exited the room to see Arthur, neat and impeccable, and he looked from one to the other. Arthur sighed and asked Eames, "I suppose you have read the riot act to him?"

Eames nodded.

Arthur studied Charles again. "Don't ever pull that trick on me again, should I ever see you. The money?"

"Already wired to the offshore account you specified."

"Good." Arthur tilted his head. "Mr Eames?"

"Darling Arthur," teased Eames, and Arthur rolled his eyes at the endearment before leading the way downstairs.

Privately Charles thought they had a chance of working it out if Arthur would give it a chance, but the slender man only had thoughts of a pretty young woman back in Paris. Still, at least Eames had that one kiss, which was more than what he had ever hoped for, so Charles did not regret doing what he did one single bit.

 

 

Alex and Erik were surprised when they heard that they need no longer venture out to find their comrades. Charles explained the concept of the FBI and how Neal had convinced his FBI contacts that the people that Charles had Neal looking for were key suspects to an imaginary art theft.

Of course, much of that convincing was done in the Xavier mansion, with a whole team of FBI agents, so Charles actually over-exercised his mind-control muscle a little. Eventually, Neal and Charles established that the two other Genoshan refugees had taken a priceless heirloom from the mansion, and Charles wasn't pressing charges if the heirloom could be returned, but he needed the FBI resources to help find them. Peter Burke (he had impressive natural mind shields, truly, and Charles was a little too fascinated by that intelligent mind until Neal stomped heavily on Charles's foot) assigned the various tasks to his subordinates and Charles had to instruct that they did not log in the report. 

"Thanks, Neal," said Charles.

"You're welcome." The conman glanced about the room. "Any chance you might want a new lodger?"

Charles shrugged. "When I go to Genosha with Erik and his people, you can be my housekeeper."

"I might be suspected of murder, if you suddenly disappear."

"Mozzie can fake the paperwork, I'm sure."

Neal laughed. "He can provide the legal documents, actually. He's a lawyer too. He passed the bar."

"I can't picture him in court."

"He works the documentation side of things," explained Neal. 

Charles grinned. "I'll meet him again before I venture into unknown battleground."

 

 

Thankfully, Alex and Erik knew how to shield their thoughts - Charles MUST meet with that Jengre someday if she had taught them to shield that well when necessary - so Charles's brain was not clanging with information overload. There was a lot to handle now that his full powers were at his disposal, and he had to consciously attempt to regulate his thoughts. Staying in the study helped. It was his center, he knew, the seat of his power: in his dreams this was the safest place, and it was here that was the most reinforced magically. Charles believed firmly that knowledge was power, and that if anything should happen he must first have access to information. Now he was trying to digest quite a lot of issues and sort out his concerns.

The primary worry was of accessing Genosha.

He had no doubt that Agent Burke would bring in the two missing Genoshans from Erik's crew the night they tried to force Shaw out of the dimension. The problem as Charles saw it was that Shaw could hop between dimensions in the first place. He was not a native of Genosha, so how did Shaw get there? And how did he send his minions to Earth?

And if Charles were to hop dimensions, he needed someone who could hold a portal open from this side of the realms. He could open one for Erik and his team, but then he wouldn't be able to join them himself, and that was not a thought he could entertain. He had to be there. Fire was hot, water was wet, Charles was the key to defeating Emmfrst before the Genoshan rebels could destroy Shaw.

As he mulled over options he caught sight of the rock collection he had on the far shelf. It was his father's, and Charles smiled. Brian Xavier had been interested in many things, and he had taught Charles a lot about the world they lived in. Each stone corresponded to a certain entity that Brian Xavier had had dealings with, and acted as a totem for communication purposes. With nostalgic affection Charles walked over and dusted off the glass cover, opening the case just to feel the stones in his hands again, and there was one label that suddenly clued him into what he needed to do.

"That's it. That's it, if I can get him-" Charles set the box down and steadied his nerves. "Wait. Charles, think it over. There is no way he would..." Charles swallowed and fell into his chair, his mind now racing ahead with possibilities and obstacles. The stones from his collection gleamed dully in the light of the study.

Shakily, Charles reached out and picked up the plain metamorphic rock sample. The slippery feel of the rock mildly unnerved Charles, even though he knew it was the crystalline structure that gave it that texture. He inhaled deeply and whispered, "I might just regret this."

The stone, a simple serpentine polished into a marble, felt greasy and tingled in Charles's hand as Charles murmured the command.  _'Ego qui tenent Totem humiliter petimus, praesentia vestra.'_

He repeated the request a few times, and just before he gave up a haze shimmered into place before him.

"Good evening," blurted Charles. "I-I wasn't sure if you'd still... um. Good evening."

The entity regarded Charles for a long beat. Then he removed his helm and passed it to an unseen person. _"If you want to speak with me, Xavier, I suggest you meet me in person in the city."_

"I just-"

_"We'll talk when you are ready to talk. Do not waste my time with trivial questions or hesitation."_ With that the haze shimmered once more and disappeared.

Charles let out a breath he hadn't know he was holding. So that was what it felt like. It hadn't been too bad, Charles considered, but he might just be a little too terrified in real life. Yet how many people in the world could claim to have spoken with a god and come away unscathed?

However, Charles Xavier knew better than to rest on his laurels. He had better plan out what he needed to say before he used the serpentine rock totem again.

Loki was not a kind god, and he was not known for his patience.


	9. Chapter 9

Charles sat on the decision until the remaining members of Erik's crew were escorted to the Xavier residence. Hank had been the one who welcomed them at the door, and he was immediately very taken by the dark girl that had strolled right in, as though she knew where she was, but the boy - dark-skinned, tall and effacing - endeared himself to Charles with his impeccable manners and a warm hug for Erik. The Genoshan rebel leader surprised Charles by embracing the boy too.

Still at the door, Neal Caffrey tipped his hat. "Charles."

"Neal," Charles greeted happily, and then he beamed at the federal agent behind Neal. "Agent Burke. Would either of you like something to eat?"

"I believe those were art thieves, but why on earth I brought them here I have no idea," said the stolidly-built man. His thin lips thinned further as he regarded Charles. "And for some reason, my people didn't log in this incident. And somehow my intuition keeps telling me that there is something you're not telling me."

Neal looked nervously at Charles. His anxiety wouldn't have been noticeable to a normal person, but Charles was hit with a myriad of images and flushed. There had been shouting and cold shoulders and - oh dear Lord above - an actual fight during a raid that almost injured Neal and then the resulting painful make-up sex between the fed and his consultant flashed rapidly through Charles's mind.

"Um. I'm not sure I should tell you."

"Is it illegal?"

"No." Charles wasn't lying. There wasn't any law against telepaths, because telepaths didn't exist in the general population's consciousness yet.

"Then don't tell me." Peter Burke sighed and a gleam of amused exasperation appeared in his eyes. His mental shields dropped just a smidgen; Charles wished he could explore this man more. "But they have no papers at all, and I really should turn them over to immigration."

At this threat, Charles cleared his throat. Erik was talking happily - or as happily as Erik could get in front of unfamiliar people - with the newcomers in Genoshan. "I assure you, all I want is to return them to their country with the least amount of hassle as possible. At the moment, I would _really_ appreciate if you consider them political asylum seekers."

"There are proper channels for that."

Neal intercepted. "Peter. Please trust that I am not introducing you to criminal masterminds who traffic people across the border."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Now that you mention it-"

"I'm not," Charles cut in again. "Listen, Peter. I can call you Peter, right? Peter. I am helping these people, and I am getting them out of the country by a means that contradicts no law on earth. I need you to forget this exchange ever took place and I'm really impressed that you've been able to pick out the niggling bits of this whole incident. And please stop trying to dig out all the information from Neal. He's being a good friend, that's all, and I truly appreciated all his help."

If Neal caught Charles' warning buried in the middle of all the bluster, he made no protest, but the farewell handshake was noticeably cooler and tenser than before. Charles met the conman's gaze, blue eyes locked on innocent blues, and Neal bared the smallest snarl he had ever seen. 

"Neal, I will be very careful," Charles whispered.  _Peter won't even notice._

The conman put his hat on again and smiled, all faux brightness and airiness, and said aloud, "We should be going, Peter, Elizabeth won't like us missing the opening."

Charles let his mind follow the two, Neal's thoughts electric-blue and lemon-zest bright with rich maroon-chocolate undertones, Peter Burke's mind signature a solid-green-earth-deep-blue-vanilla-pecan-pie. Then, when they stopped at the main gate, Charles informed Neal telepathically and waited until Neal leaned over and distracted Peter, before he carefully erased all memory of the task, leaving only a false recollection of a jealous Charles and an apologetic Neal Caffrey, and a Peter Burke who came in to soothe hurt feelings.

 

 

Erik did the introductions. Amndo and Anglsldor were cousins, and they had adapted to life in the city. Anglsldor had taken to dancing, an activity that was a rare luxury in Genosha, and had taken the name Angel because of the outline of wings on her back. She was speaking to Raven and Erik, in halting English interspersed with her native tongue, and her cousin was perched on a nearby arm of a couch and looking at everything with a keen, interested manner.

"Does she really fly?" Charles asked, fascinated when the outline unfolded into transparent, glittering wings of glassy membrane. Alex, who had come up from the basement where he had taken to haunting, grinned and nodded. His vocabulary had improved by leaps and bounds, though unfortunately it was his range of insults that had grown the most, and Hank was the victim of Alex's taunting. Charles thought it either a clumsy form of flirting or some kind of brotherly possessiveness over Raven, who obviously needed the protection as much as Erik needed a magnet.

Amndo was waved over by the blond boy and Charles shook Amndo's hand again. There was an immediate welcoming air about the tall boy, and Charles wanted to understand what his gift was.

"I adapt fast," said Amndo in perfect New York-accented American. "Ain't a problem fitting in, and I was real glad I found Anglsldor in, like, a day after I got here. Gotta say, the city smells worse than the _terrka_ pits back home."

"Your ability is to adapt?" Charles clarified. "Okay, I am going to try something like what Jengre did - to invade your mind. If you can keep me out, then I am very convinced that you have one of the most incredible abilities I have ever encountered."

Erik heard what Charles proposed but before he could object to the idea, Charles had sent a quick query of significant power at Amndo. A swift probe shouldn't sent Charles reeling and falling back with a splitting headache, but it did, and Charles shook the bleariness from his mind with an embarrassed laugh. The awkwardness only grew when he realized that it was Erik who was holding him up and keeping his head from connecting with the floor.

"I could have told you that Amndo is immune to the mind assault that Emmfrst tries on us," said Erik with a long-suffering sigh.

Charles smiled up weakly. "Inquiring mind and all, love."

Immediately both Erik and Charles stiffened, and Erik let the telepath stand properly. Charles swallowed, aware of his slip, and smiled equanimously at everyone. Amndo was studying Charles curiously, his brown eyes shifting from Charles to Erik and back, and then a slow smile curved his lips. The thought that came to Charles from an unfamiliar mind -  _'I'm Amndo, and I totally approve, man. He needs someone like you to take care of him.'_ \- made the telepath choke.

"Okay! We have found everyone," said Charles too-cheerfully. "Hank, I will need you to hold the fort here in New York."

Hank froze and bared a tooth, his half-demon heritage surfacing for a second. "Are you really suggesting that I leave you and Raven to your battles in Genosha while I stay here and house-sit?"

On hindsight, Charles realized he had turned to Hank in an attempt to distract. He had forgotten about Raven, who was leaning against the wall in deadly, lithe grace, her blue skin a sharp contrast against the gold-and-amber wallpaper. A deep breath, and Charles regrouped. "I meant for you to hold the fort here and strategize with the rest of the team while I visit a... a family friend. For additional help."

"I will come with you." Erik's voice brooked no dissent. His gray-green eyes flickered over Charles's face, but his expression was closed and inscrutable. "Just in case."

"You should be here to guide the discussion of strategy."

"Amndo has been my second for the last two seasons," said Erik, a brief nod at Amndo. "He and Alxmrs will impress me when we return with your additional help."

Charles regarded the tall Genoshan rebel leader, in parts fascinated by the utter belief he had in the two young men and exasperated that he didn't seem to understand that Charles needed to have distance between them. Still, it would not be good to argue with Erik in front of his people -  _pas devant les enfants_  and all that - and the better thing to do would be to get ready to leave as soon as possible. Hank would settle them in, and Amndo seemed to have adapted very well to life on Earth.

He left Erik to his fellow Genoshans, escaping to his room to put together a small suitcase and to pick out his best suit and coat. He would need them; his father's notes had instructed that attire was paramount when meeting with high-ranking demons or deities. Then he frowned. Was there time to get Erik a good suit?

 

 

"How on earth did you get this number? Calls are supposed to come through the front desk!"

Charles chuckled uncomfortably. "You... probably would prefer that I don't tell you, Emily."

The young woman on the other end of the line sighed. "You know Miranda's schedule is packed, Mr Xavier."

"Then get me Nigel, Emily, this is a sartorial emergency and I have to be on a plane in five hours."

Amily sighed again, but transferred the line. Within two rings a clear male voice answered, the hint of annoyance just barely covered by the courteous tone. "Mr Xavier, I hear you have need of my services."

"I have a friend who needs a fantastic suit, and he needs it right now." Charles scratched at his cheek; he didn't like to use his connections this way. "Six foot tall, model measurements, is there anything you can get for me?"

"Bring him down and I'll kit him out." Nigel hesitated, then asked, "Taken?"

"I-I'm not sure."

"But you're interested," chuckled Nigel. He called out something to an assistant. "Be here in forty minutes, you have twenty minutes of my time, and make sure you say hi to Miranda before you go."

 

 

Erik hadn't protested much when Charles disengaged him from his troop of Genoshans, but when he could not stop staring as he was led up to the Elias-Clark  _Runway_ offices. "What are we doing in this place, Charles? Is this where your family friend lives?"

"Oh, no, this is my friend's workplace. He - excuse me - is the fashion dir- He decides what some people wear and holds a lot of influence over the attire of everyone else in New York,"  Charles explained. The fashion industry was all about luxury, not something that Erik would have encountered in Genosha. "His name is Nigel, he's very friendly and pleasant, and he can be very blunt."

A neat, sharp man was standing outside one of the offices and when he turned, he smiled broadly at Charles. "Xavier! You look as terrible as ever. Why have you not taken any of my advice? With those eyes and that hair... You really should make royal blue your official color. Always wear a hint of blue, Charles, when will you  _listen_? There's a body under these ugly-as-sin cardigans, and I do so wish you won't hide it." 

"Nigel, so good to see you too," replied the telepathic man. He hugged Nigel warmly and allowed the slight man to tut and criticize his outfit. Behind him was Erik, looking almost lost in this labyrinth of excess and frivolity.

Nigel took note of Erik. "This is your friend whom you want me to help?" he asked Charles while surveying Erik's build. "He doesn't need help. He can make Payless look like Prada."

"But the people I'm bringing him to meet will be able to tell the difference, Nigel. Nigel, this is Erik; Erik, Nigel. We are going to meet a Mr Laufeyson, and I need us to make a good impression."

"You need more help than he does," Nigel commented as he led them into the cavern that was the clothes vault of Runway.

"I have a good suit-"

"You have ONE barely-acceptable suit, my friend, so stay still and I will try to find something that will fit you and bring out those baby blues. Clara, Darin, the charcoal Zegna. And the emerald tie from Hugo Boss." Nigel looked Charles over. "Navy suit from Armani, move it, bring along the same in gunmetal. And ties in taupe, slate and cadet. And shirts. If you have to ask me which shirts, you should be working the front desk with the phones."

The bustle inside the vault was terrifying in its singularness; Charles made himself as comfortable as he could while high-heeled women stalked from end to end. Erik stood against a plain wall, his turtleneck his insignificant armor. Nigel was a general commanding his well-dressed troops, and when the ammunition was prepared he ordered Charles and Erik into various combinations of suits.

Finally, at the end of twenty minutes, Nigel hustled them out. Charles was weighed down with a slate gray suit for himself and a battleship gray suit for Erik, along with a dozen ties. _Runway_ didn't do menswear often, so the selection was not as wide as the women's (a vertiable Aladdin's cave), but nevertheless Charles was glad he had sought Nigel's help. The man himself had disappeared before Charles could utter his thanks, and given the punishing pace of this particular magazine, Charles knew it was likely Nigel had already spent more time on him than was wise.

"Why did we have to come here to be outfitted?" asked Erik. He hadn't liked being prodded or being made to change, especially in front of the tittering women who had stared at his chiseled perfection - not that he was aware of their purpose.

"These can be considered armor for the meeting I am arranging, Erik, and let me greet an old friend before we leave." Charles knew the way, since he had set Miranda up at Elias-Clark in the first place. The office was as large and imposing as ever, and the two assistants looked up the second he strode in.

The one on the right, the new Emily, rose to her feet huffily. "Are you scheduled?"

"Shut up, Rosalina, and focus on your work." Emily hissed as she got up and came to kiss Charles on both cheeks. "Mr Charles, Xavier, it's been years! You look... well, you look well. And this is..."

"Erik." Erik's even gaze barely registered her.

She gaped at Erik, and it had to have been his prickly demeanor that prevented any attempt by Emily to grope him up. "It's... nice to see you, Mr Erik. Charles, Miranda is in a meeting."

"Oh, if that's the case, I can go-"

"It's all right, it's just. Maybe you can be the one to interrupt?" Emily smiled apologetically. "I do like my job."

Charles beamed and nodded. He tapped at the partially open door and went in, leaving Erik in the middle of the office reception.

 

 

"This belt is... wrong." Miranda Priestly reached out and Nigel delivered another into her hand. She regarded it and nodded. "Better. And the earrings, the enamel ones, do you think?"

"Enamel and then the studded bracelet would complete the look." Nigel put the items he was talking about with the model. 

"Much better," said the white-haired woman, and then she smiled at Charles who was at the door. "Hello."

Charles inclined his head. "It's good to see you, Miranda."

"And you, Charles." The woman behind the magazine returned to look over another outfit. "Do lose that horrible cardigan, Charles, it does you no favors."

Charles laughed and closed the door.

 

 

"That's all," said Charles, and took his suit from Erik. "Let's go, Erik. Have a good day, Emily."

The Genoshan waited until they were back in the car. Erik listened with his eyes half-closed to the hum of the engine, his metal affinity linking directly to the car's power, and said, "Who was in that room?"

"A good friend, I am inclined to say, even if she considers herself far above the need of a friend." Charles turned the wheel and added, "She was one of my earliest clients, and helped me reconcile with my alcoholic mother before she passed away." The shorter man paused and regarded Erik. "I don't have a lot of friends, Erij. And what I have, I fight to keep."

"Then why would you want to come with me and risk your life?" asked Erik. "Won't you stay to keep the friends you have? Everything you have here is yours, already. You have to stay here to keep them."

Charles drove steadily even as he struggled to word his answer properly. Only when they had turned up the driveway to the house did Charles figure out what he needed to say. He cleared his throat and explained in a low voice, "You mean... you mean more to me than anything I _have_ , here, Erik. I won't fight to keep you here. I want to help you with your fight, and I-I don't truly care what becomes of me in the process, as long as you get what you love most back."

That earned a silence that drew out into awkwardness. The atmosphere tensed further when the car stopped in the garage, but Charles didn't know how to ease it, and Erik got out without even looking at Charles.

 

 

The suits went into garment bags and Charles laid out the map so he could plan the route. He also asked Moira over to look after the house and to help the younger new Genoshans find appropriate clothing. Amndo was too tall to wear Charles's tees, all of which had been appropriated by Alex anyway, and there was nothing Charles had for Angel. Besides, Raven had Hank wrapped about her little finger, so Moira would be a more suitable sitter while Hank tried to be more assertive.

"All of you aren't from earth? Wow." Moira accepted that with a tilt of her head and nibbled her lower lip. "So, how long is this trip going to take?"

"Couple of days, maybe four," said Charles, distracted. 

Four days. In a car, with Erik who knows that Charles was in love - deeply, madly and out-of-his-mind in love - with Erik. To meet a demigod.

Oh dear lords.

"You okay? You're kinda paler than usual," said Moira, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder.

Charles jolted. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. We'll be taking this route and once we get here, we'll be incommunicado. If neither of us gets in touch after five days... You can safely assume that we won't be coming back."

"What?!"

"He's - the person we're seeing - he's temperamental," Charles murmured. "And I can't guarantee that he'll be in a good mood. But he's our best shot at getting everyone back into Genosha, and of me getting back here after - after whatever happens there."

Moira sat back on her heels. "Who is this guy?"

"He's a god. A-a demigod, now. He's been, I don't know, reduced? from his previous incarnation. Not as powerful but still much more potent than any magic-caster here on Earth." The telepath and exorcist shook his head. "I don't know if taking Erik with me is wise, but he's got... he's got charisma. Something I don't have-"

"-you're plenty charismatic-"

"-I'm charming, Moira, not charismatic. Charisma is something Erik has, in  _spades_. He-he walks into a room and it's  _his room_ , you know, like he takes up all the space inside-"

"You've got it really bad, Charles," said Moira with a lopsided grin. She patted his knee and whispered, "Does he feel the way you do?"

"I-I don't think so."

"You didn't peek?"

"It's not  _ethical_ , Moira!" Charles inhaled and forced an exhale. "I try not to pry, Moira, not about these things. And I... I'm not quite able to deal with whatever I might find out."

A discreet knocking at the door disrupted their discussion. Charles called out an invitation and Alex peered in. "Hey."

"Alex, hey. Come in," Charles ushered. "Join us."

The blond young man sat down on the carpet. He fiddled with his thumbs and seemed at a loss. Charles peered closer. "Hey. What is it?"

"I want to stay here, after."

The two adults stared at Alex. "You want to... to stay?"

"Yeah, after... after we get Genosha back. There's so much here that I want to learn, and I want to see all the things that I see on the box, the tevelision-"

"-television-"

"-yes, and, um. Amndo says he wants to come back here too. He says that he wants to learn about, uh, skoos? then he can return to Genosha and help build these skoos for the children. After we defeat Shaw. The children do not know a lot of things, and after being here I see that I don't know a lot of things either, and I want to learn. So that I can help, more, after."

Schools. Charles didn't correct Alex, swamped suddenly with the images of children who had known nothing but war and struggle and fear. He swallowed and answered, voice thick with emotion, "I will be more than glad if you come back with me, but this isn't a decision for me to make. You have to let Erik know."

"Let him know?" squeaked Alex.

Charles smiled reassuringly. "After, Alex. After we defeat Shaw, talk to Erik. This house, my house, will always be open to you."

 

 

The drive was not a comfortable one, since Erik was still keeping Charles at arm's length, answering monosyllabically when asked and not speaking otherwise. Moira hugged Charles, the only person aware of their potential deaths - Charles knew Moira could take it, she was CIA before, and had seen worse, lived through worse - and very much the person-in-charge should the worst happen. 

The day ended at a hotel and they got one room, two separate beds. The receptionist had kept his face politely blank though his mind screamed 'Fucking queers, who do they think they're fooling!' and other unflattering epithets. Charles took the shower first, and the thought of Erik outside made him tingle all over so pleasantly that he had to turn the temperature to just a touch over freezing.

The other man was leaning against the headboard and flipping through a phrasebook. German, apparently, and Charles tried not to wonder why Erik was learning German.

"Erik? I'm done."

"Thanks, Charles," said Erik absently. He closed the book and gazed straight at Charles. "I appreciate that you are helping, Charles, but I think there's something you're hiding from me."

Charles' eyes widened. 

"And that expression proves me right." Erik folded his arms. "Charles?"

"Yes?"

"I know that you... that you like me. That y-you... desire... me." Erik coughed, uncomfortable but determined. This was not something he wanted to discuss, evidently, but it must have been bugging him from the frustration Charles could sense roiling off Erik. The taller man straightened and gazed at Charles. "Do you love me?" 

_Oh gods. Oh gods, I cannot do this. I CANNOT._ But when the telepathic exorcist looked at Erik, it was impossible to not answer. Charles swallowed. Inhaled. Closed his eyes.

"Yes, I do love you," whispered Charles.

He didn't dare open his eyes even when he felt a hand against his cheek. Then he held his breath and hoped he was dead.

"Charles?"

"Please. Please, Erik, don't tell me I can't help you simply because I love you. I won't ask for anything from you, I swear, I don't even dare to hope that you would return my feelings and I just, gods, Erik, please. Please just let me help. Because I have to. I will die, here, if I can't go with you..."

"Charles!"

The babbling stopped. Charles opened his eyes and met gray-blue eyes. The green wasn't there today, Charles thought abstractly, and shivered as Erik ran a finger down his cheek. Erik was almost smiling; his expression was very soft.

"I know I can't stop you coming with us. I just... I need you to know that I feel - that I feel very much responsible for you. And if you should come to harm there I will hate myself forever." Erik's smile faded. "I don't know if I can love you, Charles. I've never thought about another male like that. Lifemates come together to have children, and this-this love you have for me - we can't have children from that."

Charles shuddered and his greath hitched. "I know. I-I do mean it, that you don't have to feel anything for me, Erik, that you don't have to reciprocate."

Erik cupped Charles's face again and touched his forehead to the shorter man's. Erik murmured, "I feel deeply for you, Charles, but I can't be certain if it is what you want me to feel for you. But all these - they have to wait until what needs to be done is done."

Charles nearly sobbed, but he merely nodded. Then he smiled up at Erik. "Go take a shower. I need to tell you about the person we are meeting."

 

 

_Loki used to be a real god. An old god._

_They placed him in a pantheon of other gods, wrote stories about him, both about his wit and his powers and of his vindictiveness. And he used to be a full god, worshipped and feared. He isn't part of that pantheon; he is from everywhere. Where there is chaos, where there is mistrust, where there is dissent, there is Loki._

_Loki is now half a god and half a person._

_They - the omniscient they - say that he fell in love, and because he fell in love he gave up part of his divinity to the human he fell in love with, so that they may be together forever. They - the omniscient they - also claim that the human Loki fell in love with did not love Loki in return, and the human has tried to die. When certain things trigger the human's recollection, Loki's lover has tried to commit suicide._

_Loki has not taken back his unwanted gift. However, he has stayed human, most of the time, and he stays out of cities and crowded places. He has subsumed his divine heritage, chosen to submit partially to the ravages of time, made himself less than all-powerful, and now chaos rages across the world without purpose._

_Loki is not a good god, nor a fair one. Chaos is unfeeling, and so Loki used to be. So Loki was supposed to be._

_Yet Loki is part human now, and he feels affection and love and hate and fear. He feels the passage of time like a human does. He feels, and so he can be persuaded._

_But Loki is still Loki, even unto the ending of the world, and a god's moods are not to be provoked without reason._

 

Charles closed his father's journal and kneaded the bridge of his nose. Erik has since fallen asleep, on the other bed, his usually rigid posture relaxed and the frown on his face gentled. Charles wanted to walk over and kneel by the bed, to study the sleeping face for the rest of time, but he hadn't wanted to creep Erik out - Erik might just brain him with the bedside lamp.

_"I feel deeply for you, Charles."_

Smiling as he remembered that, Charles wanted to sing hallelujah. It was an admission that there was a possibility. And that gave Charles hope and courage beyond what he dared to pray for.

But tomorrow... Tomorrow they would, with any luck, meet Loki.  _Human_  Loki, and Charles had to persuade Loki to use his god powers. Charles might just get himself and Erik killed, and Genosha would forever be under the heel of a demon lord.

Goody, he thought dryly. Then he turned off the lights and, lulled by the slow metallic rasp of Erik's dreaming mind, Charles fell asleep.

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

"Tom? There's a Charles Xavier at the door," yelled the tall blond man at the door. He smiled broadly at Charles and Erik. "Come on in. I'm Chris. I was making muffins."

"Thank you," Charles nodded politely as he stepped in, his mind and occult senses casting about him to detect possible wards or spells.

There was nothing, not even the usual background hum that signalled the presence of a warlock or, in this case, a god. The sitting room was completely normal-looking: plain walls covered in dark blue wallpaper; a couple of leather armchairs and a soft couch, all in cream, and a low wooden coffee table cluttered by auto magazines and thick hardcover books.

Somehow that terrified Charles more than if he had walked into a dungeon replete with torture tools and dismembered bodies.

Chris excused himself and Charles took a seat by the fireplace. Erik stood near the wide bay windows. The garden outside was not well-tended, but there was a rambling sort of tangled beauty to the rose bushes and untrimmed shrubbery. He stared out aimlessly, and Charles could hear the longing in Erik's mind for the wild clearings of his own world.

After almost five minutes, a slender and tall gentleman strode into the sitting room. He was dark-haired and his green eyes were unusually keen, and Charles felt the sudden intense thrust of power that hammered into his chest.

"Xavier," the man said quietly. This had to be Loki, Charles surmised, even if Chris had addressed him as 'Tom'. "It has been some time. And this is?"

"This is Erik," Charles replied. All his super-senses were dampened by Loki's proximity. Though the man was dressed simply in a white shirt and jeans, it wasn't hard for Charles to imagine him in full armored regalia.

Chris entered the sitting room with a tray of baked goods and coffee. He beamed at all of them again, and Charles almost gasped at how quickly the potent aura that Loki exuded dissipated. Loki was Tom, abruptly, and Chris offered both Erik and Charles coffee, saying, "I'm sorry to intrude. Tom, I have to go. Classes are about to start and I can't be late."

"Certainly, darling. I'll see you for dinner later?" 'Tom' responded. "Go on now, the professor can't be late for his own classes."

Once Chris had left, the demeanor of the slim man changed completely. His shoulders squared and he drew up to his full height. Slowly he turned and his eyes turned from 

Charles rose to his feet and bowed respectfully to the dark-haired man in the room. "Good morning."

"Xavier," Loki breathed out the name again, soft and deadly, a viper waiting to strike. "You are tempting fate, little one. What need drives you here?"

"I need your help to open inter-dimensional gates... my lord."

"Save the flattery." Loki blinked slowly, his eyes intensely green. He prowled across the room to stand right in front of Charles, his height giving him the advantage, and Charles could hardly breathe. "If not for the fact that I owe your father a debt, I would not have allowed you ten miles of this dwelling place. Why do you wish to enter a different realm, child? And which realm are you presuming to visit? The ice of Jotunheim would tear the flesh from your bones, the elves of Alfheim would play with your entrails and make you watch, the glory of Asgard would blind your mortal eyes, and no one can pass into the realm of Hel unless she herself wills it so." 

 Erik stepped forward two paces. If he felt the pressure of Loki's potency, he showed no sign of it. "It is for me and my people. We wish to return to Genosha, to reclaim what is ours."

Loki shifted his attention from Charles to Erik. Charles inhaled sharply, feeling his knees buckle as he stumbled back into the chair he vacated. Erik made as though to reach out for him, but Loki was in the way.

"Genosha is not familiar to me," Loki responded, voice as quiet as before. "Why should I care about you, either of you, or your people?"

"What favor did my father do for you?" Charles asked.

"He found me a place." Loki snorted. "A place of perfect order, the center of the maelstrom. I asked this of him, and he delivered. But you are sitting in the heart of chaos, Charles Xavier, and you will understand that I am not honor-bound to help you.

Erik looked from Loki to Charles. "Why do you need this place?"

"Erik, do take a seat," Charles urged. He could not get a reading of Loki and it was unnerving. Every time he tried to read Loki's mind, he was met with a yawning chasm, a bleak emptiness reminiscent of a dying man's mind, but Loki was obviously not dying.

"Charles Xavier, if you don't keep your mind to yourself I will rip it from you," Loki said suddenly. His brilliant green eyes locked gazes with Charles's startling blue. "Tell me everything."

 

 

It took a little more than an hour for Loki to listen and question both of them. Then he scoffed softly and shook his head. "Mortals," he sneered. "Your memories are so malleable, so ill-maintained."

"That has been a good thing for you," Charles retorted. He leaned forward and said, "I can open the portals, but it is beyond my ability and the ability of any warlock here to keep it open and stable. Add in the volatile mix of a dimension-hopping demon like Shaw, and I think you can see our predicament."

"Did you ever think why it was this world that the Genosha portal linked to, Charles?" asked the god suddenly.

Charles opened his mouth. Then he closed it. 

"Obviously not." Loki sighed, and this was one of long-suffering. "Your assumption was wrong, right from the start."

"...assumption?" Erik repeated.

"You assumed that Shaw was a demon." Loki grinned maliciously. "He isn't."

Charles tensed. He had an inkling of what Loki would say next, but he had to be sure. "What is he?"

"He's human. An old, powerful warlock from the days of Vlad the Impaler," said Loki slowly, relishing the dawning understanding in Charles's eyes. "However, still human."

"But he can absorb attacks and-" Erik looked at Charles. "Charles, I don't understand."

Charles regarded Loki in wonder. "Does that mean he's shielded against the backlash of his spells?"

"Has to be," said Loki. He crossed his long legs and took one of the muffins. "Rules of magic applies to all of us, even to gods, except I know how to work around that. It's likely he's learned as well."

"So if I can drop his shields..."

"You can then hurl all your attacks and it will tear him apart. But you need two concurrent spellcasters: first to destroy what he has, and the second to keep the shields down." Loki steepled his fingers together and smiled, his eyes dark. The aura of menace heightened and Charles could feel all the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise. Erik tensed visibly. The god smirked and said, "You have the information you seek."

Charles swallowed and nodded his head respectfully. "I do. Thank you very much."

"Ah. Payment, child. This is a trade," said Loki as he rose gracefully to his feet. He stared at Charles, his green eyes dangerous and focused. "And you will pay, rest assured of that. I do not take kindly to people breaking the peace I have built over my life, nor those intruding into Chris's. Your presence could trigger a break in the cloaking spell, Xavier, but out of my debt to your father... Consider my debt to the Xaviers repaid in full." He bared his teeth in a mockery of a snarl. "If you come here again, I will kill you. If you call or summon my presence, I will kill you. If you dare inform anyone about this place or hint to anyone who I am, I will kill you. Slowly, painfully, in inventive ways. _For I am the God of Fire and Mischief and Chaos, and I will not be your personal helpline to the occult_."

Erik growled something in Genoshan and Loki chuckled before grabbing Erik by the throat. The god was taller than Erik by a few inches, and the room suddenly grew dark. Behind the unassuming appearance of 'Tom' was a huge, deeply-hued shadow, with flecks of gold and flame dancing all over it.

"I am a God," repeated Loki quietly, "and you will respect me as such, you pathetic mortal creature."

"Loki, please," Charles interceded with false calm. "We will depart, immediately, and no longer will I impose on your generosity and charity."

"You are mocking me with words, little telepath?"

"No, no sir, I swear. Please let go of Erik, he means no harm-"

"I can read his mind. And if I had been less than what I am I would be dead, with ten thousand metal shards embedded in me." Loki relaxed his clutch and Erik collapsed, coughing. "But I feel magnanimous. Leave."

Charles gathered Erik up and half-dragged the Genoshan out of the little cottage, deceptively cozy-looking with ivy crawling up its walls. Loki stood at the door and watched them get into their rental car, but before Charles closed the door, he heard the god's voice in his head:

_'By the way, I like your suits.'_

 

 

Shaw was human.

This was big news, and once they got back to the mansion, the remaining Genoshans were very encouraged. Charles however was desperately contacting all his former coven members as well as his remaining friends from the Watchers' Council.

"...no, Rupert, an experienced spellcaster. Yes, of course I know your duty is to Buffy - how is the girl? Good, that's good - you can't think of anyone? How about Ethan?... okay, okay, I understand. Vishrak? How do I summon... the Voljedd Chronicles, volume seven. All right. Thanks, old chap." Charles hung up the phone and let his head loll back against the plush leather back of his armchair.

After a while, Hank entered with two mugs of tea for Charles and himself. "How's it going?"

"Rupert Giles recommended Vishrak, a demon warlock, but if I remember accurately it's their matiing season now and he'll not be in an accommodating mood." Charles kneaded his brows. "I've been trying to get to Bobby, but his phone's tied up, and the Spellman ladies say that they're needed at home, so they're out of the running too. It's only fair, this is asking them to risk their lives."

"What about Miss Ichihara?" Hank suggested.

"She's away on one of her jaunts, apparently, but her assistant promised she'll get in touch once she's back in this plane," Charles said. "Hank, what are we going to do?"

Erik materialized at the door. "We are going to discuss this. Then we will plan our attack on Shaw and his friends."

"Erik," Hank said, almost nervously, and headed out the room, clutching his own mug in front of his chest.

"Erik," Charles echoed as Erik walked in and took the chair opposite. "I've been trying-"

"I know." The other man sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Thank you." ' _For everything. I cannot even begin to tell you how much it all means to me, to us, that you've found out this much. We can do the rest.'_

_Erik, we've been through this. I will go with you into Genosha. My coven, my former coven, can keep the portal steady here in New York. I will fight Shaw alongside you. I just need one more person who can use magic._

Leaning forward, Erik placed a hand on Charles' knee, and Charles couldn't help feeling a warm flush steal over his body. The Genoshan's eyes were steel-gray in this light, and faint worry-lines framed his mouth. "Charles. I cannot ask another of this realm to risk his or her life. Not for us."

"They won't necessarily die..."

_'Listen to yourself, Charles. Do you really believe that?'_

_I have to. I have to believe that, because no one will come with me otherwise._ Charles inhaled and closed his eyes, wishing that he had two of himself.  _We will find somebody, I swear. If I have to use up all my favors, if I have to cash in all my chips, I will. Just... just trust me, okay?_

Erik let his hand rest on Charles' knee a little longer, before he got up and, as he was about to exit the room, he commented softly, "I trust you, Charles. I truly hope your trust in me will be repaid too."


End file.
